


Falling Through Time: Book 1: Basking in Candlelight

by My_Dear_Hammy



Series: Falling Through Time [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Death, Depression, Extreme sarcasm, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I swear, Jamilton - Freeform, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mentions of Slavery, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Stolen Candles, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, You're gonna cry but you're gonna love it, all that fun jazz, because this is canon era and im not going to pretend it didn't exist, dont drink kids, lots and lots of swearing, mmm angsty, mmmmm yummy, yes - Freeform, you'll cuss me out and I'm gonna cackle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:29:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 35,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Dear_Hammy/pseuds/My_Dear_Hammy
Summary: Takes place in the 17-1800's. Jefferson and Hamilton always hated each other. But now they're stuck together to build a nation by a glue called George Washington. Slowly they learn things about each other they never knew. Can they overcome their differences or are they fated to bicker forever?





	1. Un

Hamilton sat at his desk, head in his hands, shoulders weighed down with exhaustion. One look at him and one could easily tell he hadn't had a full night's rest in far too long. Thankfully, coffee existed. Bless the Lord. But sometimes coffee couldn't solve everything. A problem that plagued people that worked through the night on a daily basis, such as he, the room gets stuffy and confining. Hamilton ran his hands through his hair, making the already messy look even messier before he shoved away from his desk. One could only take so much, a walk is what he needed, even if it was just a short one. Just long enough to get out of his stuffy home office for a little while. Pulling on his coat one sleeve at a time, Hamilton made his way out the door and down the narrow, New York City road.

It was a quiet night, not much of a moon, but just enough to be able to see. He breathed deeply, the cold air filling his lungs and rejuvenating his energy. Nightly walks had become routine ever since the war ended, for reasons he'd rather not discuss. Eliza gave up on begging him to come back to bed a long time ago, a useless battle she had fought with him for far too long. At this point, Alexander wasn't sure if he even knew what sleep was anymore.

He stopped and peered up at the sky. It was a beautiful night, stars visibly twinkling above the world. With a sigh, he turned on his heel and returned to the house. The candle was still burning and his papers were just as he left them. Unable to convince himself to write out another page, he decided it was time he went to bed and disappeared into his room, lifting the heavy blankets and crawled beneath them, already warm from his loving wife. Hamilton enveloped her in his arms and pulled her close before drifting off.

The next morning arrived a couple hours later, but to Hamilton, it felt like only seconds. Exhaustion dragged at his muscles and seemed to glue his eyes closed. Why did he do this to himself? Every night he told himself he should go to bed earlier, get some real rest, and every night he failed in the endeavor. He just had so much work to do. Hamilton disentangled himself from Eliza's clinging arms, threw off the blankets, rubbing the back of his neck as he slouched over the edge of the bed, feet pressed against the ice cold floor. The sun shined through the open windows, a soft breeze stirring the curtains, signaling it was at least half past nine.

Shit! He slept in. Hamilton jumped out of bed, startling Eliza awake, muttered apologies as he threw on his clothes and gathered his papers in a messy pile. Still stuffing them haphazardly into his case as he bolted out the door, still tying his necktie.

Nothing like a panicked morning run to wake the bones and jumpstart the brain.

Hamilton skidded into work, smoothing back his hair and straightening his clothes. He placed himself behind his desk and dumped his papers out, scattering them around, trying to make it look like he'd been working all morning and hadn't shown up late. In doing so, he accidentally knocked his inkwell to the floor, shattering and ink running everywhere.

Hamilton swore. This morning was turning out just perfect so far. The only thing he needed now was-

"Secretary Hamilton! So glad you showed up today. I was getting rather hopeful," Thomas Jefferson leaned against his doorway, picking his nails, "I was beginning to think you got run over by a carriage. "

"Good morning to you too, Secretary Jefferson. You should know better by now, getting run over by a carriage is much too dull a way for me to go. Sounds perfect for you though, you should give it a shot," Hamilton responded, sorting through all his papers.

"Mmm," Jefferson hummed, "That's right, you fancy yourself a martyr. Waiting for another war? Are you going to be able to last that long? You seem ready to keel over at any second. Do me the favor and make it soon."

Hamilton scoffed, "We both know that we're too fragile for any war right now, Mr. Secretary. You think me weak? You're passed overripe my friend, maybe it's about time to retire. I hear Virginia is really nice this time of year. Why don't you go home?"

"And leave you running the nation? I think not. You can't even keep your office clean," Jefferson tutted, "Ink stains on the floor, papers running away in the wind. Next, you'll knock over a candle and set your desk on fire. And you think you can run a nation? As if."

Hamilton sighed, " As much as I enjoy this-" he waved his hand in the air, searching for the proper words "-morning conversation, I really must work. Perhaps you should try it for once. You might actually accomplish something." Hamilton straightened out his papers and set about cleaning up the mess of black ink that would soon start soaking into the floors, obviously dismissing Jefferson.

"If you're intent on keeping your position, at least get some sleep so you don't screw it up more than you already have," Jefferson said as he left, closing the door and walking down the hallway chuckling to himself, his cane hitting smartly against the wooden floorboards.

A brand new nation placed in the hands of Hamilton and Jefferson? Can't wait to get started.

\----


	2. Deux

 

Jefferson, in Hamilton's opinion, was an insufferable prick. Did Washington have to choose him to be Secretary of State? Couldn't he have just left Jefferson in France? Jefferson was comfortable there, Hamilton was comfortable having never met him. God, why did he have to be the one to put up with him? Everything he does screws up what Hamilton was trying so hard to accomplish. If Jefferson had been in America to partake in the Constitution Convention, who knows what would have happened? Each state being practically their own country? Hardly any central government to tie the states together into a Union? A government so weak it would've fallen apart and the states into squabbling children fighting over every little thing?

Hamilton's quill scratched furiously against the parchment, words flowing effortlessly onto the page. Estimates, plans, figures, debts, it was all there, everything he needed to present to Congress. All he had to do was get it approved and he'd be home free. That is if Jefferson could keep his nose in his own affairs for once. Unlikely.

He straightened the papers proudly. Done. The debt plan was finally complete. Now I'll hand it in, say a few words and be able to move on to the next part.

He sat back with a sigh of contentment, closing his eyes for just a minute of well-deserved rest. That hadn't taken nearly as long as he thought it would. Hamilton expected to have had to pull another all-nighter, tirelessly working away and chugging coffee. Eliza would be happy that he was coming home like a normal person for once. He even had some extra time to kill, it was only, what? Eight? Now would be a good chance to reply to the Marquis de Lafayette's letter and then he could head home with an extra item checked off the list. He usually returned home around midnight and letters took no time at all for him. This would just be real quick.

Sitting forward again, he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, marking the date and glanced up at the clock to see how just how fast he could actually write a letter.

TWO A.M.?! WHAT!?

He was way late, way way late, nowhere near his usual time to get home. The next few seconds where a scramble to grab papers and documents. Maybe too much of one since he accidentally sent them flying all over the room for the second time that day. Cursing loudly, his voice echoing through the empty halls, he stuffed random pieces into his case and spun on his heel to snatch another piece of the floor. Only to have his foot slip sideways, sending him falling fast toward the hardwood desk, with no way to stop.

_CRACK_

Pain splintered through his skull and Hamilton slid to the floor, the room spinning around him. His office door creaked open as someone entered. The small part of his mind that was still functional was wondering who could be here at two am other than himself and why they in his office?

"Mm-I'm fine," Hamilton mumbled incoherently, trying to wave the person off but only managing to flail awkwardly.

The person sighed, saying a few words that were lost on Hamilton's fuzzy mind just before he fell unconscious.

***

The candlelight illuminated Jefferson's office dimly. His candles were only nubs, he was either going to have to give up for the night or find more candles. He was thinking more candles. It would be easy to find some all he had to do was waltz down to someone else's office and steal a few. My first choice would be Hamilton's, but he would notice. He's one of the few that actually stay into the night. Everyone else is usually gone before six, not wanting to stick around. Even if they did decide to work late, they'd go home and work in their personal offices where their wives could bring them food and care for them. Jefferson much preferred his work office but that meant he used a lot of candles. It'd be easy to steal any of his co-workers' candles but Hamilton's would be more fun, so what if Hamilton noticed? It'd be a great way to piss him off. Perhaps tomorrow though, Jefferson didn't feel like making the trek down to his office.

He inked out another page before the room started to feel noticeably hot and stuffy. Best way to solve it? Jefferson got up and flung open a window. The night air breezed in, brushing against his face and stirring the curtains slightly. He took in a deep breath of the cool air, listening to the silence of the night and the rustling of the breezing shifting his papers. His office had dropped at least ten degrees, much more comfortable now, lifting the dreariness from Jefferson and sending energy buzzing through him, making it easy to return to his work, leaving the window wide open.

Just as Jefferson sat down and dipped his quill into the ink, he heard muffled swearing rebound down the hallways. Great. Hamilton must've found something else he bitterly disagreed with to cuss out. That was normal. His bet was on that Hamilton discovered Clinton was running for office again. That always irritated him. Jefferson set his quill to the parchment and resumed. Then there was a loud crash, followed by silence.

Jefferson was out of his chair instantly.

Sprinting down the hallways, his long legs stretching and pushing himself forward as fast as possible without causing injury, he was at Hamilton's office within seconds, despite the long distance. He cautiously opened the door, wincing slightly at the loud creak, not wanting a book chucked at his head like that one incident that he and Hamilton had sworn never to talk about. Just thinking about it made Jefferson's body go hot.

He peered inside and saw a scene he hadn't expected. Hamilton sprawled out on the ground, a gash in his head seeping blood, a smeared stain of black ink on the ground, and papers scattered everywhere. Just his luck. Frankly, he'd rather have the book. From the looks of it, Hamilton was picking up papers when he slipped on the ink he apparently never finished cleaning up. What an idiot.

"Mm-I'm fine," Hamilton mumbled, slurring his words.

Jefferson sighed and let himself in. "If that's the case, I'll just return to my work. Bleeding heads are never serious after all," Jefferson said as he walked over and crouched down next to Hamilton. "You're obviously not fine, how many fingers am I holding up?" he asked, waving his hand in front of Hamilton's face. No response. His eyes were still open. Knocked out cold.

"Real smooth Hamilton. What are you still doing here?"

Jefferson was fully aware he was pretty much talking to himself at this point.

"What am I supposed to do with you?"

Jefferson could take him back to his place but that would be kinda awkward. Especially when Hamilton woke up and started throwing things. Plus, Eliza was probably worried sick. Jefferson will just have to take Hamilton home and pray Eliza is still awake.

With another sigh, Jefferson made the long trek back to his office to grab a cloth bandage, some string, a needle, and some alcohol. Upon his return, he knelt down and cleaned up Hamilton's wound, stitching it shut, and bandaged it for him.

Jefferson propped him up and tried to wake him before resigning himself to the inevitable. He glanced around the office real quick and made a quick decision. Jefferson stood and started shoving candles in his pockets before Hamilton and his belongings up and carrying him down to the stables.

Dilemma time. All Jefferson had was a single horse. Hamilton didn't come to work in a carriage either. Jefferson could just sling him over the horse, but that would be uncomfortable and he'd probably bruise.

He'll just walk. Hamilton's place wasn't terribly far. Plus, good exercise.

After a nice jaunt, Jefferson knocked on the door, hoping to God Mrs. Hamilton was still awake.

The door flung open. Praise the Lord.

"Oh, my! What happened?" she asked frantically, waving Jefferson in so he could put him down.

"My fault really. My deepest apologies. He was working diligently when I interrupted him. Let's just say there was some ink spilled and I may have thrown something. Don't worry though, Mrs. Hamilton. He'll be perfectly alright."

Eliza fixed Jefferson with an icy glare as he deposited Hamilton on his bed. "Thank you for bringing home and not leaving him to freeze in his office. However, I must politely ask you to stay away from my husband. He has enough to worry about as it is."

"Of course," Jefferson replied, bowing slightly and excusing himself. He headed for the door but paused, "When he wakes up, don't let him go back to sleep for a while, and then only short naps for a day or so." Sleeping for too long with concussions and head injuries risked the person slipping into a coma. Short naps we're best. The longer the rest, the greater the chance.

With that, Jefferson closed the door gently behind him and returned for his horse.

**\----**


	3. Trois

 

Hamilton woke up to a splitting headache and the sun stabbing his eyes, blinding him to everything except unnecessary and undeserved pain.

Best way to start a day.

He groaned and rolled over, managing to fall off the bed and hit the floor with a heavy thud and another groan.

He was wrong. Morning just got better.

Eliza hurried in as Hamilton attempted to talk himself into sitting up and failing. The floor was rather comfortable anyway, he could just lay there and be perfectly content. Plus, the sun didn't stab his eyes down there in the depths of hell.

"Alexander! Are you okay?" Eliza asked worriedly.

Hamilton groaned in response. This was a great day. She laid her hand on his shoulder in comfort, slowly rubbing. "Alexander, how does your head feel? You got hurt while fighting with Jefferson at work and-"

Work. Hamilton shot up, startling her and sending a spike of pain through his already pained and throbbing head. "How'd I get here?" he demanded.

"Jefferson-" she began.

"Jefferson brought me home?" he asked, confused, cutting her off.

"Yes, after he threw something at you evidently. Don't you remember? What were you two arguing about that was so important that it justified throwing things? There can't be anything to justify that," she replied, crossing her arms.

"Oh, right, yes...I remember... That's exactly what happened. We were, ah, discussing work and he threw a, ah, book. That's right. An entire dictionary." Before she could ask any other questions, Hamilton bolted.

After cleaning himself up, he headed for the office, deciding to take a carriage today. He certainly didn't feel like running, considering his head was already pounding, and he didn't think the beat of footsteps were going to help in any way.

Eliza called after him, something about breakfast, but Hamilton was already gone. He didn't feel like food anyway.

Upon Hamilton's arrival, he instantly made for Jefferson's office, busting through the door, without even bothering to knock and shouted, "Jefferson! What the hell were you thinking-"

Hamilton was shouting to an empty room.

Where was he? It way past normal time. Jefferson was always late but Hamilton was extraordinary late today, Jefferson should be here by now. He was probably ditching, wouldn't be much of a surprise. Hamilton let himself in, deciding to examine his office. He rarely came in here and never had a chance to look around. Jefferson's desk, usually so neat, was littered with papers. A quill was tossed down haphazardly like he left unexpectedly, ink dried on the tip. Leaving the desk for now, Hamilton examined his bookshelf. Most of it was governmental theory. So Jefferson does read. Hamilton was thinking him illiterate. Or maybe they were just decoration.

Hamilton picked up a tome and flipped through it. Notes were scrawled in the margins, every bit of space taken up. The heathen. The notes were neat and were written at least. Placing it back, Hamilton returned to the desk and skimmed over Jefferson's papers, plucking one up that looked interesting and started to read.

_My Dear_ _Marquis,_

Hamilton's eyes widened. Jefferson was friends with the Marquis? He had no idea. Hearing footsteps in the hall, Hamilton hurriedly replaced the letter in its proper place and tried his best to look innocent.

The door creaked open, framing Thomas Jefferson. He had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep and walked tiredly, rubbing at his face.

That is, until he saw Hamilton standing there, immediately straightening and every hint of exhaustion vanishing. No way was he going to let Hamilton see him exhausted. "Secretary Hamilton," Jefferson's eyes darted from Hamilton to his desk and back again. "Is something the matter? It is rare for you grace my office with your presence."

"Interesting word choice, Secretary Jefferson. I trust it's to somehow help in my removal, seeing as you can barely stand my presence."

"You didn't answer my question, Hamilton. Why are you in my office?"

Thinking quickly, Hamilton came up with an excuse to be there. "Yes, I am much attached to a certain book. I believe you still have it from a certain incident. I'm missing it dearly and would like it back."

Jefferson strode across the room to his desk, "Ah yes, I meant to return it, but I haven't had the chance." Jefferson pulled it out of his desk and handed it back to him.

Hamilton stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Why was Jefferson being so nice? Most days their banter wasn't extreme, sure, but today he seemed more gentlemanly than usual.

Jefferson rolled his eyes, "Dear God, Hamilton, get out of my office before it starts to smell like you."

"A least it would be an improvement over horse manure," Hamilton shot back as he shut the door behind him.

That's the Jefferson he knew.

Thank God. Jefferson couldn't stand him there for another second. He smelled like new money and the perfumed lies that hang in the courts of royalty. Jefferson turned back to his desk and examined the documents. No doubt Hamilton went through them. Not that it mattered. He'd hear about any of it eventually. Hamilton always sticks his nose into things that don't concern him.

Jefferson noticed his candle burned itself to a nub. He'd forgotten to blow it out last night. Oh well. He had plenty more. Jefferson started pulling Hamilton's candles from his pockets and placing them in various places.

He plopped down into his chair and spun around. Best thing ever invented. Bending over his work again, Jefferson redipped his quill and began to write. It was necessary to be prepared for the cabinet meeting tomorrow.

**\----**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The greeting Jefferson wrote to Lafayette 'My Dear Marquis' is how everyone referred to Lafayette back then. Pretty much the entire nation referred to him as 'Our Dear Marquis'


	4. Quatre

 

Hamilton was sitting at his table nervously shifting papers around. He was here way too early. The room was empty, the silence was starting to bear down on him. He didn't know if he could take it much longer, it was just so deafening. It reminded him too much of things he tried to forget. He closed his eyes tight, trying to ignore it.

It didn't work.

_Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Hamilton and his regiment of artillery waited. And waited. He knew they were coming but he'd never see them until they were plunging a bayonet into his stomach. Then that would be it. It couldn't be, though, could it? This couldn't be all he did in life. He survived a hurricane only to die in some small skirmish no one would give a fuck about? His name would be lost forever._

_He shook his head, trying to clear it, and refocused. The British were climbing the hill, in the middle of the night, through a dense forest, in hopes to get an ambush. Lovely plan but Hamilton knew it was coming, just not exactly when. His men shifted nervously around him._

_"Steady men," he whispered._

_A twig snapped. Someone fired._ _Goddamnit, too soon._

_"Hold fire!" Hamilton commanded. His men paid no mind. Guns were going off rapidly. Men in redcoats charged from the forest, only to be shot down by a volley of bullets, skewered on a_ _bayonet_ _, or impaled on their fortifications. It was a gruesome sight but Hamilton didn't have time to be sick. He had to focus on not dying. Not that anyone would miss him. No knew he existed. No one cared._

_A cannon discharged._

A door banged open, causing Hamilton to jump. He shook his head vigorously, trying to clear away the memories of war and bloodshed. He was fine. He didn't die. Everything was fine.

He ran through the familiar lines in his head.  _My name is Alexander Hamilton_ _and the war is over. The war is over. The war is over._

A couple deep breaths and he was fine again. Glancing around, he noticed the room was a lot more full. Almost everyone was there. Everyone except Thomas Jefferson, naturally. That guy was always late.

Washington brought the room into order, starting it off with one of the other cabinet members. The man went through his presentation and sat back down. Just then, Jefferson burst through the door.

"Sorry, I'm late President Washington. My deepest apologies," he said, gasping for air. Did he run the whole way?

"Take a seat Secretary Jefferson," Washington replied nonchalantly. "Now, Secretary Hamilton's plan to assume state's debts and establish a national bank. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, Sir."

"Life-" Jefferson began.

"Hang on!" Hamilton interrupted, "Why does he get to say anything? This is not the Secretary of State's area! It's the Treasury's, my area! Secretary Jefferson shouldn't be touching this with a ten-foot pole!"

"Yes, but I would like his opinion on the matter," Washington soothed. "Secretary Jefferson, please continue."

Jefferson shot Hamilton a dry look. "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. We fought for these ideals, we shouldn't settle for less. These are wise words, enterprising men quote 'em, don't act surprised you guys, cuz' I wrote 'em!"

Hamilton rolled his eyes.

"Now, Hamilton forgets, his plan would have the government assume state's debts. Now place your bets as to who that benefits, the very seat of government where Hamilton sits."

Hamilton leaped out of his seat, "Not true!"

"Oh, if the shoe fits, wear it! If New York's in debt, why should Virginia bear it? Ah, our debts are paid, I'm afraid, don't tax the south cuz' we got it made in the shade."

Cocky bastard.

"In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground, we create, you just want to move our money around." Jefferson picked up the thick stack of papers Hamilton has spent weeks compiling and held them in the air for everyone to see. "This plan is an outrageous demand and it's too many damn pages for any man to understand!" He tossed them over his shoulder, causing them to scatter around the room. Hamilton growled as he stooped to hunt them down and pick them up.

"Stand with me, in the land of the free. Pray to God we never see Hamilton's candidacy. Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky. Imagine what gon' happen when you try to tax our whiskey." Thomas smirked at Hamilton, who sneered.

"Thank you, Secretary Jefferson. Secretary Hamilton, your response."

Hamilton stood, "Thomas," he began, straightening out his papers on the table, "that was a real nice Declaration. Welcome to the present, we're running a real nation." He slammed the papers down. "Would you like to join us? Or stay mellow doing whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello? If we assume the debts, we a new line of credit, a financial diuretic, how do you not get it?" Hamilton was in Jefferson's face. "If we're aggressive and competitive, the Union gets a boost. You'd rather give it a sedative?"

Jefferson went to say something, but Hamilton pressed on. "A civics lesson from a slaver, hey neighbor! Your debts are paid because you don't pay for labor! 'We plant seeds in the south, we create!'" Hamilton mocked. "Yeah, keep ranting, we know who's really doing the planting."

Jefferson cut in before Hamilton could continue. "You think I don't know who the south rides on? You think I don't want slavery to be gone? Well, you're wrong! I fight against it harder than you! Published a couple essays and then you were through! Was it too much for a money man to handle? Afraid you'll get caught up in some sort of scandal? I thought you liked to hear yourself talk? Why don't you take a walk and find someone else to mock. Or least come back with some real facts so that your attacks have some tact, instead of grasping for straws. Or perhaps you should go back to law!"

Hamilton sputtered for a second, "And another thing Mister Age of Enlightenment," he continued, completely ignoring Jefferson's words, "Don't lecture me about the war, you didn't fight in it! You think I'm frightened of you man? We almost died in the trench! While you were off getting high with the French!"

Jefferson was in a rage, his next words flew from his mouth. "You talk as if I wasn't there! Who do you think got you from fucked to fair? Without me supporting you every way I could, sending money and guns, food and wood. I did everything I could! I've been in the Congress since the beginning, not joining when we might start winning! I went from governor, to traitor, to father of the Declaration. While you were out delivering proclamations, making a mess, everything I had to redress. Who stayed behind til the very last second, saving documents from enemy hands, making sure all the other bands of men got out alive and grand. If Cornwallis got me that day, we wouldn't even be here for you to say, such slandering things. You'd be dead instead of wearing so many God-awful rings!"

Hamilton went to retaliate, but Washington cut them both off, practically having to get between and shove them away from each other.

Jefferson watched as George dragged Hamilton away to have a word in private. Madison was next to him, complaining about something Hamilton said.

Jefferson turned to him, "Sorry James, I've got to go." And with that, Jefferson walked off, leaving Madison staring after him.

**\----**


	5. Cinq

 

Jefferson left the building far behind him, walking down the street, trying to do everything in his power to clear his head and stop from thinking for once. Instead, he only managed to get dragged down deeper into the abyss of his mind.  _Dangerous place to be, Jefferson. Don't go there._

Too late.

It was a little rude of him to just ditch James like that, Jefferson honestly felt a little guilty, but if anyone could take being ditched like that, it was James. Seeing Washington pull Hamilton aside, talking to him and caring for him as if Hamilton was his son, that was enough to put Jefferson on edge. Presidents shouldn't play favorites. Jefferson couldn't say he wanted to be treated like his son, no, he wanted the respect he deserved and Hamilton to be treated like any other cabinet member.

Pain laced his palms, pulling him back to reality.  _Breathe Jefferson._  Slowly, his fingers uncurled, removing his nails from digging into his hand.

God, Jefferson hated him. Everything Hamilton does goes against the founding principles this nation was founded on. It's outrageous! He went on a six-hour rant about how they should invent a form of a constitutional monarchy. Ha! Jefferson was livid. Exchange one form of tyranny for another? As if.

And when Hamilton saw he wasn't going to get his way, he took off. Left the convention and hightailed it back home. Jefferson may have been in France but at least he was in constant contact with Madison. Yet Hamilton preens and brags about how was invited the Constitutional Convention and drags Jefferson for not being there. He was so dense! With his rosy cheeks and silky hair, Jefferson couldn't stand him!

What did people think Jefferson was doing in France? The entire point of him going there was to keep the treaty standing, hammer out how to pay back the nation's debts, to set up trade agreements. It wasn't all fun.

_Deep breaths._

Jefferson calmed down, heaving a great sigh. Complaining to himself wasn't going to solve anything. It doesn't matter anyhow. As long as Jefferson knew what he's done, he was content. Besides, if he was being entirely truthful with himself, he actually respected Hamilton. He wasn't a much as a monarchist as he seemed, he just came across that way because of how close he was with England and because he pushed for a strong central government that would tie the states together as a whole nation.

Jefferson turned on his heel and made his way back to his office. Hopefully, Hamilton went home.

***

The last thing Hamilton wanted to do was head home. His head itched from where it got cut open a couple nights ago. Hamilton still couldn't believe that Jefferson, of all people, bandaged him up, carried him home, and then lied about what happened to his wife. Why would Jefferson do that? Make it so Hamilton was in his debt? Fuck that, he was never going to be in that asshole's debt if he had any say in the matter.

...But still, it was a fairly long walk and Hamilton wasn't as light as his size led people to believe. He needed to at least thank him, even if he's an ostentatious jerk.

Nope. Hamilton couldn't do it. Not after that cabinet battle. Definitely not. He's never seen Jefferson so hot-

-tempered.

Fuck.

Hamilton ran his hands through his hair. He had to. It was the proper thing to do and he was a gentleman after all. The sooner he got it over with, the better. Hamilton sighed. The sun had set and the sky was getting steadily darker. If he was going to do it, he had to before Jefferson went home and Hamilton had no idea what Jefferson's schedule was, he just seemed to show up and leave work whenever it pleased him. Hamilton pushed his plan away and stood, heading for Jefferson's office before he could talk himself out of it.

Exhaustion dragged at his feet and weighed upon his shoulders, he hadn't slept in days. Maybe he'll go home right after this and not try to stay up through another day. That would make Eliza happy. She deserved to be happy. Hamilton shuffled along the hallway, drawing closer to Jefferson's door. Light seeped out from the bottom. Good, he's still here. He knocked on the smooth wood.

"Come in," the thick southern voice called from within. "Ah, Secretary Hamilton, I did not expect you...nor the decency of knocking. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Damn. Hamilton wanted to punch him in the face. Jefferson was right though. On the rare occasion Hamilton came to his office, he just burst in. "I came to thank you."

Jefferson's eyebrows rose.

"Oh shut up," Hamilton snapped, causing Jefferson to snicker. He ran my hands through his hair again, trying to calm his nerves and battle away his exhaustion, Jefferson watching me intently. There was something in his eyes Hamilton couldn't quite name. Loathing probably. "What're you staring at?" Jefferson stood and walked over and grabbed Hamilton's wrists. "What are-"

"Shh," he guided his hands down to his sides, "If you keep doing that, you're going to go bald." Jefferson turned and went to examine his bookshelf, adding over his shoulder, "You don't want to lose that silky hair before you're forty, do you?"

Hamilton growled as Jefferson plucked a book off the shelf and tossed it over. "What's this?" Hamilton asked.

"A book I think you'll enjoy. You're always reading, so I figured you should read something of worth."

"I doubt anything owned by a useless man like you could be worth anything," Hamilton retorted.

"I don't know," he purred, a smirk forming on his face, "You need me around reach all the high shelves."

"You motherfu-"

"Watch your language, bastard," he tutted.

Usually, Hamilton would come up with a witty response but he was just so done. He was too tired to put up with Jefferson's bullshit. "I'm done with your shit, Jefferson," Hamilton dropped the book on the floor and slammed the door as he left.

**\----**


	6. Six

 

Eliza and Angelica took Phillip upstate to visit his grandfather. Hamilton was alone. Well, that was better than being in the company of Jefferson. A week had passed since he had last seen him, things were looking up. That is until the previously mentioned southern man burst through Hamilton's office door yelling.

"Hamilton!"

"Holy shit! Jefferson? Fuck! Don't do that! What do you want?"

Jefferson grinned, "Sorry, did I disturb your nap?"

Hamilton scoffed, "My nap? You're the one that doesn't show up until two."

Jefferson waved the comment off as if Hamilton didn't know what he was talking about. "Have you heard what's happening in France?"

"France? Since when is that my area? You're the one who was getting high with them."

Jefferson continued, Hamilton's words rolling off like water on a duck. "You are friends with Lafayette, are you not?"

"Yeah-wait, how'd you know?"

"Well if you actually wrote him now and then, you'd know that he and I are best friends ever since I went to France. But that's beside the point. France is on the precipice of revolution! Lafayette is ecstatic! He dreams of turning France into a Republic just like America. He took the American dream home and shared it with the commoners of France."

Hamilton had stopped paying attention to his words halfway through, so he muttered a response when he stopped talking, "Great, good for him."

"I was actually in France when it first began. You could see it building up. The pressure, the oppression. It was getting ready to blow. Lafayette seems to think he has it under control."

At one point during his rambling, Hamilton closed his eyes, his quill stopped scratching, he sat there and just listened, captivated by Jefferson's voice. No words were actually registering, but that voice...the thick caramelized southern drawl that just floated over him, drawing him in and-

"Hamilton?"

"Hmm? What? Oh, yeah, that sounds great. Is that all?"

"Were you falling asleep, Hamilton?" he asked.

"What? No! Of course not."

"Your eyes were closed and you were slowly sinking into your desk. When was the last time you slept? Real sleep? Got into bed and slept for a couple hours?"

"Ummm, I don't know..."

"Jesus, Hamilton, you can't run a country with no sleep! Not only are you going to kill yourself, you're going to run it right into the ground!"

"Well if you hadn't fought my plan at every turn, I'd have more time for sleep! And since when do you care if I die?"

Jefferson threw his hands in the air, "Of course I care! Who wouldn't care? Everyone cares. Oh, wait- scratch that. Burr probably doesn't give a shit about anybody."

"You're probably right there."

We stood there in silence for a minute. We both started talking at once.

"Well, I should get back to work-"

"Well, you should probably write Laf-"

"Right," Jefferson said awkwardly, rubbing his neck. "I should go." He turned on his heel, the door closing softly behind him. That's new. A door always slammed when the two of them were in the same room for more than two seconds.

***

Jefferson was actually concerned about Hamilton's lack of sleep. Sure, it was hard to get sleep when there was a lot of work to be done, Jefferson knew this, but Hamilton should at least try to get enough to be able to function properly. Jefferson didn't trust him with the nation as it was let alone delirious from sleep deprivation.

Just as Jefferson was packing up his stuff around 4 AM to head home, Hamilton busted through his door. Again.

"Jefferson!"

"Holy shit! Hamilton! Do you have any idea how late it is?" Jefferson nearly jumped out of his skin. "Is this going to become a regular thing? Because if it is, I'm going to install trip wires or something."

"Of course, I know what time it is. I normally try and watch it closely so I know when to go home to Eliza but Eliza isn't home for me to go home to so now I'm-"

Jefferson clamped a hand over his mouth, "Dear God, Hamilton, it's too late for this. You're rambling."

Hamilton tore Jefferson's hand away, "I have to discuss something with you and it can't wait-" And he then face planted. Luckily, Jefferson was standing right in front of him from trying to shut him up, so Hamilton ended up face planting into Jefferson's shoulder. His arms automatically circled around Hamilton, preventing him from falling.

"Hamilton?" No response. "Hamilton, are you okay?" What the hell? He just busted down Jefferson's door and collapsed. Jefferson stood there, holding the small man in shock for a moment. "You haven't slept for a long time, have you?" he finally asked, looking down at the unconscious man. "Now what am I supposed to do with you? I can't take you to your house, there's no one there to make sure you're okay. I can't leave you here...Fuck."

There was only one option left open.

Prayers of thanks were uttered to God upon seeing Hamilton brought his carriage to work today, Jefferson wasn't looking forward to the long walk carrying him, and flopped him down in the carriage seat before taking up the reins. "Hamilton, you're in for quite the surprise tomorrow morning."

**\----**


	7. Sept

 

Hamilton woke up and the first thing he noticed were the soft, comfortable sheets, like heaven on his skin, silky and smooth, he felt as if he could just sink into them and like there forever. The second thing was that those definitely were not his sheets. He bolted up, anxiety gripping his chest from the unfamiliar setting, the room was dark, heavy curtains were drawn across the windows, barely letting any light through. If Hamilton didn't know better, it would seem like it was still the middle of the night, only just enough for him to see outlines of objects.

 _Where am I?_   _What happened?_

He reached over to the other side of the bed. Empty.

_Where's Eliza?_

Right. Not his sheets. Eliza wouldn't be there. If not his sheets, then who's? And why was he there? The last thing he could remember was busting into Jefferson's office.

Swinging his feet off the edge, they hit the cold, wood floor with a thud, pushing himself up and walking cautiously over to a window, not wanting to accidentally run into something and take a spill on the floor. His hand grasped the heavy curtains and ripped them open, light flooding the room in an instant, making him go momentarily blind. That was a lot brighter than he thought it would be.

"What the  _hell,_ Hamilton?!" a husky voice complained from the corner of the room.

Hamilton spun, finding Jefferson sprawled out on a couch, arm flung over his eyes. "Jefferson? Why are you here? Where are we?"

Jefferson sat up groggily, rubbing his face before dropping his hands into his lap, still refusing to open his eyes. Sunlight was a bitch. "This is my house," he said simply, standing and stretching his back.

"Your place?" Hamilton asked, confused, "How did I get here?"

Jefferson blinked his eyes open and walked out of the room, knowing Hamilton would follow. "You burst into my office last night and dropped like you died. What was I supposed to do?"

"Take me back to my own house! Or better yet, left me there!"

"Well, that doesn't seem like a very nice thing to do."

"Jefferson, since when do you care about being nice?"

"Good point. Okay, next time you drop in the middle of my floor, I promise to stuff you in a broom closet and lock you in. Better?"

Hamilton huffed and Jefferson laughed. "What time is it anyway?"

"I would guess about noon."

"Noon! Do you know how late I am?! I've got to go!" Hamilton cried, pushing past Jefferson, only to be pulled to a halt by a strong grasp on his arm.

"Relax Hamilton. It's Saturday. Most people don't go in on Saturdays. And even if any of them did decide they needed to work, they'd do so in their offices at home. You need to take a break."

"You sound like my wife," Hamilton said, wrenching his arm back.

Jefferson chuckled, "Your wife knows what she's talking about. But if you really insist on getting something accomplished tonight, let's discuss your debt plan over dinner. I'll hunt down Madison and we can talk. Is that good enough for you?"

Hamilton grumbled, "Fine. But I'm going home."

"Home? To whom? Your wife? She's not there, she went upstate, remember? At least have some breakfast before you go gallivanting about like the madman you are."

Hamilton grumbled but for once, Jefferson was right. There was no point in him going home to an empty house and it wasn't like he could cook for himself. That wasn't something he ever learned. Jefferson was offering free food, how could he turn that down? "Will there be coffee?"

Jefferson rolled his eyes, "Of course there's going to be coffee."

"Fine."

Hamilton and Jefferson sat down to breakfast, both were wondering when the other was going to say something stupid and when the other would start throwing things. Without any reason to bicker, there was a bit of an awkward silence until they somehow miraculously found a common topic, dissing Burr.

"He just switched parties like it was no big deal. How can you trust a guy who's views and morals are so flexible?" Hamilton asked.

"He plays the crowd. If you're flexible to the which way the people lean, it's easier to sway votes. I trust him about as far as I could throw a mountain. But I suppose his support could be useful."

"His support?" Hamilton laughed, "Good luck on that one, he can't stand behind an opinion to save his life."

"No, but he has a way of getting people behind him, nonetheless."

"Fair enough." There was a pause in the conversation, so Hamilton decided to keep it going, it was better than the awkward silence they suffered through earlier. "So, what was that book you tried to lend me the other day?"

Jefferson laughed, "Interested now, are we? There's a copy in the library if you want it."

"Library? You have a library?"

"Of course, I have a library, what do you think I spend all my time doing?"

"Making horrible Macaroni."

"That was low." Jefferson threw his napkin on the table. "Come on, I'll show you." Jefferson led the way and opened a simple door. "It's not as nice as the one in Monticello but I couldn't travel all the way to Virginia when I wanted to kick back with a book."

Hamilton stopped dead in his tracks. Books upon books were piled everywhere. Neatly tucked into cases, some in piles covering the tables and floors. There were a couple comfy looking chairs and a couch. A cold fireplace sat in the corner. He was in shock. It was so beautiful.

Jefferson watch Hamilton with a smile on his face, "I take it you enjoy books?"

Hamilton gingerly ran his fingers over the spines of a few. "As a child, I had to fight for every page I could find. How in the world did you get so many?"

"Years of compiling." Jefferson couldn't stop the next words from tumbling from his mouth, "I've never seen you so happy, you're adorable."

Hamilton replied without thinking, "Excuse you, I'm disastrously sexy." His head shot up, realizing what he just said, he looked at Jefferson and could see the blush on Jefferson's cheeks before he turned away, hiding it by pretending to grab a book from the shelf. Hamilton forced his own flushed face back to normal.

Jefferson coughed, "Ah, well, here's the book," he turned and handed the book to Hamilton, all traces of blush gone.

"Thanks, Jefferson."

"Don't worry about returning it, I've got another copy."

"Oh, okay. Well," Hamilton hugged the book to his chest nervously, "I should get going." Hamilton all but ran from the house, without a backward glance.

Jefferson sighed, "Well, that went well," he muttered to no one. He then went about setting up preparations for tonight's dinner. No doubt it would turn into a whole ordeal. They were going to need a lot of wine.

**\----**


	8. Huit

 

Hamilton could hardly remember anything from the night before except that they had come to an agreement and at one point, something about banks and capitals and they found Burr hiding under the table. Beyond that, Hamilton was clueless. He'd have to ask Jefferson about it later.

Grudgingly, he got up and readied himself for work. Drinking about a gallon of coffee before heading out the door and taking another three gallons with him. What could he say? The stuff was his blood. He stumbled up the steps to the building only to run headlong into Jefferson, spilling his coffee everywhere.

"God dammit, Jefferson!" Hamilton shrieked, "Why are you always in my way?"

Jefferson was looking sadly at his magenta coat, which now had a nice sized brown stain. He shrugged it off and draped it over his arm. Hamilton felt his heart rate pick up. Jefferson had such a lovely build, they way his muscles-

"What are you doing here Hamilton?" Jefferson asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"What do you mean? I work here."

Jefferson laughed, "It's Sunday, Hamilton! You really are out of it! Go home. Go back to bed."

"Sunday?" Oh right, yesterday was Saturday. No work Sundays. He had totally forgotten. "Then what are you doing here, Jefferson.

He smiled, "I was dropping off a copy of our arrangments on my desk, it was on my way, so I decided to stop by and get that done. Now I'm heading back home to sleep for another twenty hours. Gotta have my beauty sleep you know."

"You're insufferable."

"Glad I make your day better, Hamilton."

"As if. The only thing you make better are those clothes." Hamilton clamped his mouth shut, his cheeks going bright red.

Jefferson rose an eyebrow, "You mean before a blubbering mess spilled coffee all over them? Yes, I make everything look good. Gotta dash Mr. Secretary. Looking forward to the vote on Monday!" He trotted off. Does that man ever take a carriage?

Hamilton smacked himself, how could he say things like that? Jefferson was going to have plenty ammunition for the next cabinet meeting. Imagine all the ways he could taunt him now. Was Hamilton really that stupid? Yes. Evidently, he was.

***

Holy shit, Jefferson's heart was pounding. He had stopped just around the corner and stopped, leaning his back against the wall, hands on his thighs as he leaned forward, trying to get his heart to stop fluttering around his chest. Alexander Hamilton just actually said that. Shit. What the fuck does that even mean?

Nothing. It means nothing. Hamilton didn't like Jefferson, would never like Jefferson. If anything, Hamilton loathes Jefferson. Their political opinions were too radically opposite. Jefferson shook his head and took a deep breath. His heartbeat settled and he continued his walk back home where he collapsed onto his soft bed and didn't move until sleep claimed him.

 _Everything was bright and beautiful, sunlight was shining down through the windows of Monticello. Six children ran around him, playing on the floor. Three of them were giggling as they raced, one coaxed a beautiful melody out of her father's violin, resonating in harmony with the melody flew from another child's fingertips as they danced across the ivory keys of the piano. And the last child sat reading in the corners, randomly quoting a part she enjoyed._   _Jefferson felt his wife's hand, Martha's hand, slide onto his shoulder. He looked up at her, love and happiness spreading through his chest. This was all he ever wanted. A family life. Nothing else._

_A cannon blast rocked the house. The children played on, Jefferson stood suddenly. No. Not this. Anything but this. He looked at the ceiling as cracks began to spider web out and then back to his children._

_"NO!" Jefferson screamed, but no sound came out. One had collapsed. He cradled her body. She could never play tag again. His son collapsed, Jefferson cried out, reaching for him. The melodies of the others went one, still happy, one was still reading. But the one who was playing tag no longer had anyone to play with. She turned to_ _him._

_"Daddy, don't go off to war. Please don't leave," she begged, tears filling her eyes._

_"I won't darling, I promise I won't leave."_

_Monticello disappeared and suddenly Jefferson was in Congress. "No! I have to be with my family. Everyone in Congress turned and looked at_ _him._

" _Jefferson," they whispered. "Jefferson. Jefferson. Jefferson." He tried to push my way through them, he had to get home to his children, to his wife. Their hands clung to him, pulling him in further._

_"I don't want to be here!" Jefferson screamed, "I have to be with my family."_

_A face looked at him. It was blank. "We need you here Mr. Jefferson," it said._

_"No!"_

_Then they were gone and Jefferson was standing in Monticello again. His wife cupped his cheek gently and tears of relief sprung from his eyes. "Thomas," she whispered, "I love you, darling."_

_"I love you too-" she turned to dust. "Martha? Martha!" All my children lie dead around him. All but one. My little Martha, named for her mother. She was still playing, but the tune turned sad and lonely._

_"Daddy," she whispered, turning to Jefferson, dropping the violin, letting the thud ring loudly through the house, the too quiet house, but the music played on, hauntingly, echoing around Jefferson like some cursed melody. "Daddy, you said you wouldn't leave. You promised you wouldn't go."_

_"I didn't want to!" he cried, collapsing to his knees. "I didn't have a choice!"_

_"Daddy," she said hauntingly. When Jefferson looked up, she was nowhere to be found. He was in a forest. Books and top secret correspondence clutched to his chest. Behind him, flames grew and crackled._

_"Cornwallis," Jefferson breathed. He turned away from the burning flames and looked down at the papers, if these had been found, the war would be lost. If he had gotten_ _captured_ _, the revolution would collapse. That couldn't happen. It was too important. When he rose his eyes, his daughter stood in front of him again._

_"What if you never came back, daddy? What if you never came back from the war?"_

_"I'll always come back for you," He tried to hug her but couldn't move._

_"You're lying. Daddy, lying is sinful, you're going to hell. You let your family die. Everyone died. Why are you still alive daddy? Everyone else is dead, why aren't you?"_

_"I still have you, I can't leave you on your own, I couldn't do that to you."_

_"I'm all grown up, daddy, I don't need you anymore."_ _The child was gone and in her place stood a beautiful woman. "I have a husband, I don't need you. Why are you here? "_

_"I have so much to do," Jefferson whispered._

_"Why are you lying to yourself, daddy? You never wanted to be a politician. The war is over now, they don't need you anymore. Why are you here, daddy? Why are you alive?"_

Jefferson shot out of bed, covered in a cold sweat and hugged his knees to his chest. Her words still echoed and the haunting melody swept over him, chilling his bones to the core.

Just a little longer. Hold on for a little longer and he could disappear. Just a little bit more time.

**\----**


	9. Neuf

**\----**

Fuck Burr.

Oh, sorry.

Fuck  _Senator_ Burr

**\----**


	10. Dix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'd just like to let everyone know, the positions I change in the battles are actually to better portray the opinions of the real founding fathers. Like in the first one, Jefferson hates slavery, and in this one, you'll see. (Of course, that doesn't mean he's not a hypocritical fuckface)

 

"Are you ready for the cabinet meeting, Hamilton?" Jefferson asked, prancing up next to Hamilton.

"Since when am I never ready?"

"Well, there was that one time-"

"Okay, shut up and go away."

"Awww, after all I've done for you? That plan would never have passed without my influence behind it," Jefferson reminded Hamilton.

"And you never would have gotten the capital without mine," Hamilton responded smugly, looking over his notes.

"I don't know about you, but I'm surprised Lafayette's revolution turned into this," Jefferson said, changing the subject.

"Save it for the debate," Hamilton replied, reaching a door and closing it in Jefferson's face.

"That wasn't very nice!" Jefferson called through the wood.

***

"France is on the verge of war with England. Do we provide aid and troops to our French allies or do we stay out of it?" Washington's clear voice called to the room. It was a simple room, white walled and a long table for each of the Secretaries to sit and discuss. "Remember, my decision on this matter is not subject to congressional approval. The only person you have to convince is me. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir."

Jefferson pushed his chair out to stand and began, "When we were on death's door, when we were needy, we made a promise, we signed a treaty. We needed money and guns and half a chance. Who provided those funds?"

"France," Madison answered in the background, some how managing to remain unnoticed as he stood against the white wall in his black clothing. If Jefferson was being honest, sometimes Madison scared him.

"Without the French, we would have been dead. Now that being said, the soil of France is covered in red. If we get involved, nothing good will come of it, but we just can't up and call its quits, it's all about the politics. Don't do a thing, not even proclaim ourselves neutral. The treaty stands and we have to be truthful. We don't want to send a refusal that will end with a nationwide duel. It'll only add more fuel and the French may still prove useful."

Jefferson sat down, indicating he was done. "Hamilton, your response," Washington said, the room's attention turning to Hamilton.

He stood slowly, everyone was ready for him to burst into the passionate shouts like he always did. He placed his hands on the table dramatically, "I agree," he said simply and sat back down.

"What?!" Burr half shouted from the back of the room, having had snuck in and was standing next to Madison.

"Burr? What are you doing here?" Washington asked, whirling to face him, his eyes still somehow managing to skip over Madison. "This is for cabinet members."

"Sorry, sir, I just wanted to be in the room where it happens, sir." Washington rubbed his face. He was so done. "But, sir, I find it hard to believe that's all Hamilton has to say. He always has an opinion," Burr went on.

"Burr," Jefferson warned.

"Sir," Hamilton stood back up, "if people want to know details, I shall enlighten."

"God dammit," Jefferson and Washington sighed.

"Thanks, Burr," Madison murmured from next to Burr.

"Madison?" Washington asked, incredulous. "When did you get here?"

"Oh, I've been here longer than him," Madison jerked his thumb at Burr.

"Just forget it," Washington said, "Hamilton if you please,"

Madison leaned over slightly to Burr, "Way to go, you got us caught."

"At least we didn't get kicked out," he whispered back.

"We signed a treaty with a King whose head is now in a basket, his body didn't even have a casket. The treaty died with him and his wife, the nation can't be held to it for life. Proclaim our neutrality proud and clear for everyone in the world to hear. What do we have to fear? The whole world is against the French, what are they going to do? They're too busy to get revenge. Their streets have a too powerful stench called chaos anarchy where there used to be a monarchy. We don't need their treaty-"

"Don't you think you're getting greedy?" Jefferson interrupted, pushing himself out of his chair.

"This about to get good," Burr murmured.

Madison held a bucket out to Burr, "Popcorn?"

"Where the hell did you get that?" Burr asked. Madison shrugged so Burr took a handful.

Jefferson was still going, "The treaty is with the people and the people lead, there is still a chance for them to be freed. They bleed and fight indeed, so did we, who are we to impede what they say they need? The king and queen are without heads, but the people are not yet dead, the treaty stands-"

"I'm afraid you've misread," Hamilton cut him off,"the situation somewhere in your head."

"Three shillings say Jefferson wins," Burr said quietly to Madison.

"Five says Washington sides with Hamilton," Madison replied.

"You're betting against your best friend?"

"I'm sure as hell not betting with him."

Hamilton was still making his case. "Perhaps you should go back to bed before you lose it, I hear the French love to behead. Instead, we shouldn't let anarchy spread. Our nation hangs on a delicate thread, proclaim us neutral, that's enough said."

"If France-" Jefferson began.

"Enough, enough, Hamilton is right, it's time we picked up a quill and write instead of starting another fight. Hamilton, declare our neutrality, let the people see the reality."

"Pay up," Madison said, holding out his hand. Burr grumbled and slapped five shillings into his hand. "Now shut up, after Washington leaves, that's when they actually start insulting each other." Burr grabbed another handful of popcorn.

Jefferson approached Hamilton, a scowl plastered on his face. "Did you forget Lafayette?"

"I don't see what that has-"

"Have you an ounce of regret? You accumulate debt, you accumulate power, yet in his hour of need you forget."

"Lafayette's a smart man, he'll be fine. And before he was your friend, he was mine. But his position has nothing to do with our condition. We're neutral, you weren't going to help him either. Take a step back before you get a fever."

"We could still have freed Lafayette from rotting in jail, if we weren't neutral, he doesn't even get mail. He's a breath away from death and you sit there acting like Macbeth."

"Grow a spine, he'll be fine."

"So quick-witted,"

"Alas, I admit it,"

"I bet you were quite a lawyer,"

"My defendants got acquitted,"

"Huh. Well, someone oughta remind you,"

"What?"

"You're nothing without Washington behind you."

"Hamilton!"

"Daddy's calling."

Burr winced, "That had to hurt."

Madison nodded, "Oh yeah."

Hamilton walked away, following after Washington, flipping Jefferson off as he went.

"Who does he think he is?" Jefferson asked the now empty room. "Some hot guy, flipping his silky hair, thinking he'll get his way? If Washington hadn't practically adopted the kid, the nation would be better off. Why does Washington only listen to him? Aren't I good enough to listen to too?"

"It must be nice to have Washington on your side," Burr agreed.

"Holy Shit, Burr! Where did you come from?"

"Why do people keep asking me that? I've been standing here the entire time."

"Shit, did you hear anything I said?"

"Yeah dude, you talk too much to yourself, you should get that looked into."

"Fuck off, Burr."

"Sir."

"Oh my God. Stop. Where's Madison?"

"Right next to you," Madison replied. "Wants some popcorn?"

"Holy fuck! How do you guys do that?" Jefferson asked, taking some popcorn and popping it in his mouth.

Madison ignored him, "Hamilton has to be embezzling. Have you seen any of his check histories?"

"I know," Jefferson agreed, "With how little he makes combined with the expensive house, the flashy and fashionable clothes, and the way he likes to live? There's no way he can pull it off."

"If we look in the weeds for his misdeeds and see where it leads, we're bound to find some evidence," Burr proposed.

"Weeds Burr? You couldn't come up with a better analogy?" Jefferson remarked, "Nevermind. Let's just take care of this corruption and then I can be done." Jefferson looked around, "Where'd Madison go."

"Jesus Christ, I didn't even move."

**\----**


	11. Paces, Fire!

 

George Washington resigned and Jefferson was super close to following in his footsteps. That melody has yet to play out. It haunted his every step. Every day, all he wanted was for it to just end. But he couldn't leave while the nation spirals toward self-destruction. Hamilton's Whiskey Rebellion rocked the nation a bit and now John Adams is president and already fucking things up. How could he leave it like that?

Jefferson tried to resign. He really did. When Washington was still halfway through his second term. Then the Democratic-Republicans stuck his name on the presidential ballot and suddenly he's a candidate. Fine, If the people want him to lead, he will. But now he couldn't leave until Adams was gone. Jefferson didn't have to worry about Hamilton anymore, he got fired. Well, he technically resigned, but Adams like to think he fired him.

Jefferson sat back in his chair. Vice President doesn't do much, well, he would, if Adams let him. Adams didn't trust Jefferson's political views, so he kept him under lock and key. The mother fucker. And to think, they were once the best of friends. Oh well, Jefferson could read a book or something to pass the time.

Someone knocked on his door. Interesting. Putting aside his book and his tea, Jefferson stoked the fireplace and went to the door and swung it open, "Welcome to the grand palace of-Hamilton? What are you doing here? God, you smell terrible." Terrible was an understatement. He reeked. Jefferson waved his hand as if that would help disperse the smell.

"Thomas!" Hamilton slurred, "Buddy!" He half hugged, half collapsed onto him.

"Since when am I your buddy? You're drunk, go home," Jefferson said, holding most of Hamilton's weight. He should just drop him.

"Home?" Hamilton asked, looking up at Jefferson, "I don't have a home anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"Eliza read the Reynolds Pamphlet."

"Ah. You shouldn't have written that." Well fuck. Now Jefferson couldn't drop him. Hamilton played the pity card. Not that he was aware that's what just happened.

He waved Jefferson off, "She burned the house down."

"Well, she certainly went out with a blaze of glory," Jefferson chuckled.

"And she took Phillip and went to her father's."

"So, what are you doing here?"

He paused. "I have absolutely no idea."

Jefferson sighed, "Alright, here we go," and picked him up, Hamilton giggled, kicking his legs like a child.

"Holy shit, this is high."

"Shut up and watch your head." Jefferson carried him inside and dropped him on his bed.

Hamilton studied the bed for a full five minutes before turning to back to him. "Don't get any ideas, Jefferson." His voice was clear and sober for that one sentence.

Jefferson certainly did have ideas.

He pulled off Hamilton's shoes and coat before throwing the blankets over him and sinking into the couch at the side of the room, against the wall not far from the bed. Why did Jefferson have to go through this?

***

Hamilton woke to desperate cries. That's one way to sober up.

He shot from the bed and ran into a wall with a thud.  _Where am I?_  He looked around for a second, trying to get his bearings. The dark room was familiar. That's right, Jefferson's. Another cry broke the silence.

"Jefferson?" Hamilton called searchingly. Hamilton could barely make him out, he was tossing and turning on a couch. A few strides across the room and he was immediately at his side, trying to shake Jefferson awake. It did absolutely nothing, just made him cry louder.

"Fuck."

Hamilton hugged him. Well, better put, he tried to suffocate him by smothering his face in his chest. That actually seemed to work, go figure. Hesitantly, Hamilton stroked his hair and murmured softly. His hair was sooo soft, it's unbelievable, just Hamilton always imagined. Eventually, Jefferson quieted down and returned to a relatively peaceful slumber. Laying him back down, Hamilton got up to return to where he'd been sleeping but found his arm was attached to a hand that didn't belong to Hamilton. Despite his attempts, it wouldn't relinquish, so Hamilton resigned himself to Jefferson's strong grip, lied down on the floor and went back to sleep.

When Hamilton woke again, his hangover hit him full force. Cursing, he sat up, unable to fight the pull consciousness anymore. The first thing he noticed, Jefferson was gone. The second thing he noticed, he was in the bed again and not on the floor. Why did I keep waking up here? It was starting to get strange. Third, he was still in his clothes. That was a bit of a relief.

Hamilton threw off the covers. Mission one, find Jefferson. Mission two, food. Mission three, pass out again. Great, day planned and ready to go. He stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. To his surprise, Jefferson was already there. To his greater surprise, he was surrounded by multiple bottles of alcohol.

Well, shit.

"Monsieur Hamilton," he greeted, sounding completely normal, "Bonjour." Well, except for the fact he was speaking French.

"Bonjour, comment vous sentez-vous( _Good morning, how are you feeling)_?" Hamilton asked.

He cackled, "Commen suis-je sentez-vous( _How am I feeling)_?" He continued to cackle. "Comment pense vous que je sentez-vous _(How do you think I feel)_?"

"Toi ressembler merde( _You look like shit)._ "

"Je sentez-vous comme merde( _I feel like shit)_ ," he replied. "Comment vous sentez-vous _(How are you feeling)_?"

"Comme merde _(Like shit)_ ," Hamilton shrugged, taking a seat. "Parlez-vous toujours en français quand vous êtes iver( _Do you always speak French when you are drunk)_?"

He shrugged and pushed a bottle over to him. Uncapping it, Hamilton chugged. "Je suppose que nous sommes tous deux des gens plutôt terribles, sont nous ne pas _(I guess we're both pretty terrible people, are we not)_?"

"Je suppose nous sont _(I suppose we are)_ ," Hamilton chuckled. "Quvous hante alors _(What haunts you then)_?"

Jefferson laughed, "Une mélodie( _A melody)_."

Okay, that's odd to get drunk over. But who was he to judge?

"Hamilton?"

"Oui?"

"Merci _(Thank you)._ "

"De rein _(You're welcome)."_

A few hours later, the alcohol started to kick in. Took it long enough. Hamilton's face was flushed and he drunkenly swayed back and forth.

"Lafayette was lying on the table, right? And then Herc tackled him, but the table couldn't handle both of their fat asses, so they both crashed to the ground, completely trashing the table," Hamilton laughed, "Burr was so mad, he had to pay for it. We weren't allowed back." Hamilton upended another bottle.

Jefferson cackled, "That's brilliant! Burr had to pay for it, ha! I bet he never went drinking with you again." Jefferson slammed his bottle down a little too hard. "Merde!" he swore. He underestimated his strength, again. Glass litter the floor and sliced open his hand. Blood mixed with the alcohol as it dripped onto the floor.

"Jesus, Jefferson, way to go," Hamilton laughed, setting down his drink. "Don't move." Hamilton left to get some bandages and a broom.

Jefferson looked down at the sparkling shards surrounding his bare feet. Fuck this. He stood and walked across the floor to a water basin, fully aware of the pain as the glass ground into his feet. He washed his hands and feet, picking out the shards. Hamilton returned only to see the bloody footprints.

"Shit, Jefferson, I told you not to move." He rushed over and helped Jefferson clean his injuries. Jefferson looked down at Hamilton's face as he diligently worked and smiled.

"You're a beautiful person, Alexander," he murmured.

Hamilton glanced up, trying not to look at Jefferson's soft lips. "Yeah?" he asked, refocusing on the work at hand. "You're not so bad yourself." Hamilton wrapped the bandage around Jefferson's feet. "There all done. Now don't move this time, seriously." Hamilton got up to sweep the floor but was stopped by Jefferson's grasp. He turned and looked at Jefferson questioningly.

"Alexander," Jefferson murmured, his voice soft and husky, he pulled Hamilton into a tight embrace. Hamilton tensed and then relaxed. Jefferson smelled like coconuts and fresh, crisp, winter air, and copious amount of alcohol. If it wasn't for that last scent, Hamilton would've melted. Coming to himself, Hamilton pushed away and went to go clean up the glass.

**\----**


	12. One

 

When Jefferson had to walk to work the next day, he sorely regretted walking through the glass but not enough to do anything differently. That moment with Hamilton was priceless. At least, he was pretty sure that happened.

"My God, do you hear yourself, Thomas?" he said to himself. "Snap out of it already."

He looked up at the tall building, such beautiful architecture. Monticello was better though, but there was always room for improvement. Jefferson strode through the hallways like he owned the place, grinning and greeting anyone he came across before closing himself in his office and settling behind his desk.

"Just getting here, Secretary Jefferson?" Burr asked, entering Jefferson's office right behind him.

"I thought I would never hear that again after Hamilton got fired, I find myself proven otherwise."

"It's your own fault for being late."

"People never seem to realize I do everything for a reason. Perhaps I get here late for a reason, hmmm, Burr?"

"Sir,"

"Stop that."

"What?" Burr asked.

"Nevermind, I'm guessing you're here for a reason?"

"Yes, sir! I came to-"

"Burr!" Madison greeted, walking into the office as well.

"Sir!"

"God dammit," Jefferson mumbled.

"What are you doing here, Burr?" Madison asked.

"I came to say congratulations,"

"Don't say it, James," Jefferson warned.

James sighed, obviously disappointed. "Congratulations?"

"To Jefferson on the appointment of Vice President."

"Okay, you obviously want something, spit it out already," Jefferson cut in.

Burr's smile faulted for a second, "That was really all I had to say. How'd the capital arrangement go?"

"I feel swindled," Madison replied.

"Really?" Burr questioned, feigning surprise, a hand to his chest.

"Shut up, Burr" Madison snapped, Burr laughed. Jefferson's sullen mood did not go unnoticed, sadly. "What's up with you Thomas?" Madison asked, turning the conversation to him.

"I'm swamped with paper work and have got a terrible hangover."

"A hangover?" Madison asked.

Burr acted hurt, "You went out on the town without me? You rarely drink and I wasn't invited?"

Jefferson forced a smile, "An impromptu drinking session in your own kitchen isn't really invite worthy. And you say that like you would've actually gotten drunk with me. We both know you and Madison only come to get free money from my drunken self."

"I assure you, sir, I would no such thing. You wound my honor," Madison said and then pointed to Burr, "He would be the one to do that and then I'd get all through bets."

Burr shot Madison a dirty look but didn't even bother trying to defend himself. "I'm surprised you showed up today then."

"Yeah," Jefferson sighed, "You're right, I think I'll just go home." He started packing up his stuff.

"Is Adams going to be okay with that?" Madison asked.

"Adams can shove it up his ass," Jefferson replied, walking out of the room, waving over his shoulder.

"Well, he was in a great mood today," Burr remarked to Madison.

"There are some days..." Madison trailed off, his mind reversing the clock and thinking back on the old days. Times about Jefferson that no one really knew about.

***

Jefferson pushed open the door to his room, ready to collapse onto his soft bed and not move for a week. One problem, there was a sleeping midget named Hamilton already there. Hamilton practically lived there now, considering he had nowhere else to go. Jefferson was okay with it, not that Hamilton had really asked, it just kinda happened. Oh well. The only problem was, Jefferson didn't have a guest room. He had a library but no guest room. Imagine that.

Hamilton looked exhausted and emotionally drained even in sleep which made Jefferson reluctant to disturb him. He couldn't just shove Hamilton on the floor, that'd just be rude. He debated going for the couch but he's slept there enough already. He could only put up with the couch so much and he wanted his bed so badly and it was his bed, after all, he had every right to it. Jefferson dropped his case and collapsed on the bed next to Hamilton, who reacted by shifting slightly and continuing to sleep. Lying there next to him couldn't hurt anything.

Even though Jefferson was bone tired, he couldn't bring himself to let himself sleep. He didn't think he could handle another nightmare. The tune still played, wafting through the air like fragrance on a breeze, piano keys and violin strings whirling around him, there was nothing to be done about it. He tried everything, plugging his ears, screaming himself hoarse, getting shit-faced drunk, ignoring it, it just would not go away. He couldn't read anymore because of it, he could barely focus enough to write. It was tearing him apart slowly, day by day, note by note.

Hamiton shifted beside him, slinging an arm around Jefferson.

"What the f-"

"Eliza..." Hamilton mumbled softly, still fast asleep, his arm tightening around Jefferson and pulling him close to where they were flush together. Jefferson could feel the blush heating his cheeks.

"Oh shit."

Jefferson tried to free himself from Hamilton's grasp but the immigrant held on tighter and Jefferson didn't want to wake him. Sighing, he relaxed and Hamilton snuggled closer. He could stay like this for a while, just until Hamilton's grip slackens, then Jefferson could move and Hamilton would be none the wiser.

However, plans never seem to go the way Jefferson wanted. The sleep that had eluded him before now hit him full force and two seconds later was fast asleep, sleeping more peacefully than he had in years.

Hamilton woke up toasty and cozy. The room was pitch black, not a shred of light to see by but his arms were wrapped around the warmest and most comforting body. Hamilton didn't want to move.  _Eliza_. He squeezed the person tighter, snuggling in closer.

Wait a minute. Not Eliza! Shit! Not Eliza! Hamilton flew out bed, his foot tangled in the blankets, halting his movements suddenly, sending him sprawling on the floor. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, Hamilton opened the curtain just enough to be able to see the room. Jefferson slumbered quietly on the bed. What the hell was Hamilton doing? And why was Jefferson in the bed with him? Hamilton wasn't that drunk last night, was he? No, he couldn't have been.

So what now?

Hamilton's eye fastened on Jefferson's dark curls, his hands itched to run through them again, it was so much more tempting now that he knew just how soft they were. Hamilton's hands also itched to strangled Jefferson in his sleep for climbing in the same bed as Hamilton. It would have been one thing to shove Hamilton off, but to climb in too? That's something else entirely.

He had to admit though, it was nice, and it was Jefferson's bed. How did Hamilton end up wrapped around him though?

Hesitantly, Hamilton slipped back onto the bed next to Jefferson and reach out his hand, hovering just over Jefferson's curls. He held his breath as he let his hand down and melted, running the curls between his fingers. So soft and velvety. It was heaven. Hamilton froze when Jefferson shifted, groaning softly in his sleep. After he stilled, Hamilton resumed, twirling a curl around his finger. Jefferson looked so peaceful when he slept...most of the time, Hamilton remembered the night when Jefferson thrashed from a nightmare. How often did those happen?

While Hamilton was absentmindedly thinking, he accidentally tugged on Jefferson's hair, snapping the man awake. Jefferson's hand wrapped around Hamilton's wrist and removed it from his head. "Don't touch the hair."

"Why are you in bed with me?" Hamilton shot back.

"Because we got shit-faced drunk and then had hot and awesome sex, darlin'," Jefferson answered, burrowing his head deeper into his pillow. "Now lemme sleep," he murmured into the fabric.

"What?" Hamilton asked, shocked.

"Oh relax, nothing happened. I got home from and I'm still a little hungover so shut up and go back to sleep."

"Not in the same bed as you."

"Fine. Then go away. I'm going back to sleep."

Truth be told, Hamilton would much rather curl up against Jefferson again and go back to sleep but he had already gone and messed that up by opening his mouth. Sometimes he wished he'd just stop talking.

"Fine, asshole."

"Bastard."

So he left.

***

Hamilton kicked a charred timber, ash puffed up, swirling in the air. This was all that was left of his life, a pile of ash and charcoal. That, and the small envelope that was left there, the white paper smudged gray from soot left behind after the fire burned His house down, his name was written on the front in graceful penmanship. Eliza's handwriting.

Dread filled his chest just from looking at it, so he turned away and sifted through the timbers, seeing if there was anything to be salvaged. He knew he was stalling, so finally, he scooped it up, stuffed it in his pocket and walked back to Jefferson's place. By the time he got there, Jefferson was lounging in the library, a cup of tea in one hand, a book in the other, a loose robe clothing his form. He seemed to have gotten a pleasant amount of sleep. Good for him.

"You're looking well," Hamilton commented, approaching him. It was a drastic change from the night before when he looked like he was ready to walk off a cliff.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Jefferson replied, putting aside his book. Hamilton did indeed look rather pale. "I didn't expect to see you again for a while yet."

"Yeah, well," Hamilton pulled the letter from his coat, "I found something."

Jefferson's eyebrows rose, "From Eliza?"

"Yep. I haven't been able to bring myself to open it."

"Easily fixed," Jefferson snatched it from Hamilton's hands. He lunged after it, protesting but Jefferson held him back, opened the envelope skillfully with one hand, shook it open and began to read:

" _My Dearest, Alexander, you are a backstabbing, cheating, lying, son of a whore."_

"Wow, Eliza and I could be best friends," Jefferson laughed, "Sorry, I'll keep reading."

 _"But_ _Phillip constantly wonders where you're at and is looking for trouble. I have been thinking about our situation for some time now, as I'm sure you have as well. I have decided to-"_  Jefferson's voice faltered, " _I have decided to give you a second chance. For now, we can stay in a hotel room together until we smooth things out again. With unwavering love but little trust, your wife, Elizabeth Hamilton."_

**\----**


	13. Two

 

"So you're going back to your wife?" Jefferson asked, watching Hamilton throw clothes into a case.

"Of course! What did you think I was going to do? Live here for the rest of my life and throw things?"

"Praise the Lord," Jefferson cried out dramatically, falling to his knees, arms stretched toward heaven, "I thought I was going to be stuck with you forever!"

"Shut the fuck up, Jefferson,"

"I didn't think I could stand another minute!" Jefferson went on, "Eating my food, stealing my bed, and that mouth that just never. stops. talking. Jesus, I thought I was going to have to gag him."

Hamilton chucked a book at Jefferson's face, sending Jefferson careening into the floor.

"Shit," Jefferson mumbled, picking himself up and wiping blood from his nose, "Has anyone ever told you, you have an outrageously strong throwing arm, because Jesus-fucking-Crist," Jefferson said, wiping more blood away.

Hamilton smirked, "I thought you said that I'm the one that never stops talking?"

"Don't flatter yourself, my voice is the most beautiful sound that ever graced this planet."

"Too bad you have nothing but gas to spout, so little in that head of yours. It's all hair, isn't it?"

"Don't listen to him," Jefferson cooed, patting his hair lovingly, "he's just jealous, that's all."

Hamilton rolled his eyes, clasping his case shut. He didn't have much, most of it was burned with the house, so packing took no time at all.

"Now, where'd I put my favorite coat?" Hamilton said to himself.

Fabric bound his mouth, "I told you I was going to gag you,"Jefferson laughed, throwing green fabric over Hamilton's face as he pranced away.

"Jefferson, you little sh-"

"Language darling," Jefferson tutted, "You're the one who wanted your coat, well, I delivered."

Hamilton pulled the fabric off his head, sure enough, it was his green coat. He half-heartedly thanked him.

"What was that?" Jefferson asked, hand behind his ear, "I didn't quite catch it"

"Fuck off."

"Why? You seem to be doing a wonderful job, you're already packed and everything." Jefferson jumped onto his bed, putting his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. "So nice to have my bed back."

Hamilton cast Jefferson a glance, "I'm off then," he announced, picking up his case and heading out of the room. Thomas leaped up and followed closely behind. Hamilton flung open the front door and stepped out, turning to Jefferson he was surprised to find a solemn look where a playful one was before. Jefferson smiled at him but it was more sad than anything else."Well, this'll be the last time we probably ever see each other since we don't work together anymore. Glad to be rid of you," Hamilton said, turning to leave but found himself, once again, stopped by Jefferson's strong grasp on his arm.

Jefferson stood there for a second, looking at his arm that seemed to have moved of its own accord. Hamilton was looking at him quizzically, "I'll be glad to be rid of you too," Jefferson smiled, lightly brushing his fingers under Hamilton's chin, gently holding it, pulling Hamilton forward. Too fast for him to react, Jefferson tenderly kissed him, lasting less than a second. Then he slammed the door shut in Hamilton's face, leaving him staring at the wood in shock as Jefferson slid to the floor on the other side of the door, head in his hands.

**\----**


	14. Three

 

Hamilton sat in the kitchen with his wife, stirring his tea with a spoon and staring off into the distance. Eliza was not nearly as close to forgiving him as the letter let on. If he walked in and sat down next to her, she huffed and walked off. So he pulled out a newspaper to read instead but his mind just wasn't there.

"Hey dad," Phillip greeted, taking a seat and snapping Hamilton out of his daze, "What are you thinking about."

Hamilton sighed, "I've just got a lot of work. Adam's cabinet sends me letters constantly asking for advice, there are just so many. It'd be way easier if I was there myself."

"You should run for president then," Phillip suggested.

"Maybe next election."

"I bet you'll win in a landslide." 

Hamilton smiled at his son, "Thanks, son. It means a lot, but what about you? I'm sure you'll blow me away."

"Gotta get through college first," Phillip reminded his dad. 

"That'll only take a couple years, you have such a talent with a quill, you'll breeze right through."

Phillip smiled before changing the subject. "How's mom?"

Hamilton ruffled his hair, "Not good, son, but I'm sure we can work something out. It just takes time."

Their conversation went on for sometime before Hamilton folded his paper, wished his son a good day at college, and locked himself in his study. He placed the paper on his desk and collapsed into a chair. That's where he ended up sleeping for the night.

_Hamilton was on a hill, surrounded by his men, his dead men. All of them were still and motionless, the ground was dyed crimson, not that he could see it. The stars twinkled above him, they were so beautiful. They were the last thing he'd ever see. His hand was pressed to a bayonet wound in his stomach, it was still seeping blood. Hamilton was running out of time._

_"Hamilton!" someone cried desperately. Rain started falling from the sky. "Hamilton! Please!"  the voice begged._

_Hamilton was running through the trees, hand still on his stomach, he stumbled into trees, trying to get to the voice. Thunder boomed around him, trees whipped at his face, then he tripped over something and_ _faceplanted_ _. He couldn't get there. Someone needed him and he couldn't get there. Someone so important and Hamilton was letting them down. He curled into a ball, waiting for the end._

"Hamilton," the voice sniffled, it was right next to him. He looked up, he tripped over a body. Hair was matted and tangled, papers were scattered about. His skin was covered in burns and blooded dripped from multiple gashes. 

_"Jefferson!" Hamilton cried. Jefferson struggled to sit against a tree, his hand covering the growing red patch on his chest._

_"Hamilton," Jefferson smiled, "I'm so glad I got to see you," he coughed._

_"Jefferson! What happened to you?"_

_"Got shot. Right between the ribs," blood dribbled from his mouth, but his smile never faltered, he seemed truly happy. "I'm out of time, Alexander."_

_"No! You have too many people waiting for you!"_

_Jefferson shook his head, "Life isn't worth living without you."_ _Hamilton's pain finally overpowered his adrenaline, he gasped and fell against a tree. "Alexander!" Jefferson yelled, "Don't you dare! You have to live!" His shouts turned to desperate sobs, "Please, Alexander, promise me,"_

_Hamilton struggled to speak, "I promise," but Hamilton knew his words fell on deaf ears. Jefferson was dead. "I promise, Thomas."_

_His dream shifted, a faceless man stood before him, gun aimed squarely at Hamilton's chest. He looked down and saw a red flower blossom on his shirt. He collapsed, Jefferson appeared before him, his face was full of contempt. "How could you Hamilton? You promised. You couldn't keep one measly promise. God, I loathe you, I'm so glad you're going to die. You should have this, it means nothing to me now." Jefferson dropped a book on him, turned on his heel and walked away._

_Hamilton could do nothing to stop him._

He bolted awake, hitting his knee on his desk, crying out sharply in pain. Hamilton hugged his knees to his chest. It wasn't real. None of it was real. That fact didn't make him feel any better though. His office was lit dimly by candlelight, casting eerie shadows throughout the room. It was stuffy and hot, the walls pressing in around him. Hamilton couldn't take it anymore, he had to get out. Hamilton raced out of the room, out of the house, and into the street without a second thought, so what if it was night? He just needed to run, so that's what he did.

**\----**


	15. Four

 

Jefferson hadn't been able to sleep for days. Every time he even tried, he was plagued by nightmares. The melody grew louder with each passing day. He was tired. So tired. Dark thoughts were invading his mind and refused to be silent.

So Jefferson did what he always does on nights like this. He took a walk. In the middle of the night. In freezing temperatures, like any other sane man would do. Perfectly normal. Okay, maybe not, but he could pretend.

The air was fridged, freezing his hands until they hurt, he shoved them into the pockets of his coat. It didn't help much. At least the pain dulled his thoughts for a bit.

Jefferson walked on.

It was all he could do anymore. Walk. At least it made him feel better. Tonight was special though, that's why he brought something along, something that would hopefully put an end to the melody in his head. That's all he wanted. For it to shut up. The piano and violin went together beautifully but that song ended years ago, so why did it still haunt him? Why didn't it just go away?

He wished Hamilton were there. His incessant rambling would drown it out, but he wasn't and he was never going to be. Hamilton fixed his relationship with Eliza. Jefferson was never going to see him again.

He gripped his item tighter. He had promised himself to never do this again but he had to. It was September 6th after all. It was time.

During the day, he could distract himself by writing, packaging, and mailing all of Lafayette's gifts. September 6th was his birthday and Jefferson made sure to never miss it. When night fell, his distractions gone, that's when his heavy heart would be heaviest of all and when the melody would play louder than ever.

He was in the park, trees swaying slightly in the wind, moonlight dancing on the rippling lake. Tonight was perfect.

He could hear both his daughters playing. One on the piano and the other on the violin. It was all he had left and it drove him insane.

Jefferson stood at the very edge of the lake, the dark water lapping at his shoes. He gingerly set the black case on the ground, running his fingers over it before pulling out the object within and faced the water.

Jefferson lifted it and placed it against his neck. This was it. He took a deep breath.

***

Hamilton was still running. He was going to run all night if he had to, there was no one to stop him.

_CRASH_

He ran headlong into someone. Someone he never expected to see in a park in the middle of the night, sending them both toppling to the ground.

"Aaron Burr?"

"Sir?" Burr asked, confused, sitting in the dirt.

They both stood up, "Burr, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Hamilton," he replied.

"I'm taking an evening run, helps keep me awake when I have to work all night," Hamilton lied. "What about you?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why's that?"

Burr turned away, looking at the stars, "Theodosia, my wife, she passed away."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, my condolences."

"Thank you, Hamilton. Now if you don't mind, I'll be on my way, good night, sir."

"Goodnight, Burr."

Hamilton continued on his way through the New York park. The stars were beautiful, glimmering brightly against the velvet sky. For some reason, it made him feel lonely and content at the same time. It didn't last long. It reminded him of how little time he had and how he was wasting it away by walking through a park when he could be working.

A melody floated by, echoing between the trees. Hovering in the air like a ghost, eerie and hauntingly beautiful. It stopped Hamilton in his tracks.

***

Jefferson slid his bow over the strings of his precious violin. The dark wood shined in the moonlight, reflecting the stars above.

Jefferson's fingertips danced along the slender neck, weaving the melody into the night. He could almost see it skimming over the water, fluttering through the trees, and hovering in the sky.

He and Martha used to play together. She was excellent on the piano, it was like she was pouring her soul into every song. They were great together.

Were.

She wasn't here anymore. She died. Years ago, on this day, and this melody was theirs. They played it after they lost a child. And every time after. Little, Martha soon became very familiar with it as she watched all her siblings die.

If not for Little Martha, Jefferson would never have made it through the death of his other children and his wife. She was the only thing that kept him together. But she wasn't with him anymore. She had her own husband now. She was right, he wasn't needed.

***

Hamilton watched Jefferson drown his sorrows in the music he crafted from the treeline. His fingers flicked over the wood delicately, playing smoothly and gracefully.

The song was so sad.

That's what made it so beautiful.

Hamilton watched as Jefferson played himself out, his emotions written across his face and in the notes of the melody that floated away on the wind, the last note fading away before the night was silent again.

He couldn't hold back anymore.

Hamilton quietly approached and wrapped Jefferson in his arms. Jefferson tensed and pulled away.

"Hamilton? What are you doing here?" Jefferson asked upon seeing his face.

"Doesn't matter right now. What's wrong?" Hamilton asked, concerned.

"Nothing. Just enjoying the night."

"Jefferson, no one walks to the park and plays a heart-wrenching melody in the middle of the night. Now tell me the truth."

Jefferson sighed. "Tonight is my wife's death anniversary."

Hamilton was silent. He had forgotten Jefferson had lost his wife and most of his children. So he did the only thing he could do. He hugged him.

This time Jefferson didn't pull away, instead, he sagged against Hamilton, letting him support his weight.

After awhile, Jefferson pulled away. "Hamilton, you're freezing."

"Yeah, I forgot to grab my coat."

"Here," Jefferson said, removing his coat and holding it out, "Take mine."

"Don't you need it?"

"No, I'm fine." In truth, Jefferson liked to use the method of freezing himself as punishment. Not that he would ever admit to it.

Hamilton hesitantly took it and put it on. He melted. It was so warm and smelled like Jefferson, he couldn't help but smile. He looked up at Jefferson who was smiling sadly down at him.

That was the same look Jefferson had right before he kissed Hamilton that time. Blush colored Hamilton's cheeks but he didn't look away.

"Bonne nuit, Alexandre _(Goodnight)_ ," Jefferson said softly before striding away.

"À la prochaine _(Until next time)_ ," Hamilton whispered, but Jefferson was already gone.

**\----**

**_Happy Birthday, Marquis de Lafayette! September 6th, 1757_ **


	16. Five

 

"If I could share a fraction of your time," Eliza began, "Ever since you came home, I've hardly even seen you. Nothing's changed at all. You haven't changed at all."

"I've got so much work to do, Eliza," Hamilton replied sadly.

"Why do you write like you're running out of time? I'm standing here right now, you don't even smile, am I not enough?"

Hamilton looked up from his work and turned to her, confused, "Eliza, you're the one who's been ignoring me. You've hardly said a word in my direction the entire time I've been here."

"That's because you lock yourself in your office and never give me a chance."

"Eliza..."

"Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now."

"Eliza..."

"Let's give this another chance, Alexander,"

Hamilton got up and hugged his wife, "I'd love to but I'm so busy. Tomorrow, I promise."

"Alexander, at least spend some time with your son. He loves you dearly."

"He's studying his Latin. I shouldn't interrupt."

"You're hopeless," Eliza sighed before stalking out of the room.

Hamilton turned back to his work. He knew Eliza didn't deserve this. She deserved better, so much better, but what she had was him, a cheating husband who could spare a minute for a whore and not for his own family.

At least he had a family, Jefferson wasn't so lucky.

What was he even doing? Papers stared up at him from his desk, his handwriting scrawled across the surface. A letter. That's right. Letters to Adam's cabinet members. Why was he doing this? He should be working on his court cases, he was a lawyer again. It's how he made a living. But here he was, unable to detach himself from political work he's been doing all his life.

You'd think he'd want a break.

The clock ticked on the wall behind him. He had to get this done first, then he could wrap his arms around Eliza.

A thunder clap shook the house.

"Holy fuck!" he swore, startled. That came out of nowhere. He looked out the window. No rain. Weird. Then heaven opened and suddenly, the streets were flooded and water was everywhere. "Well, that was dramatic. You know, you can't have a perfect storm without gale force wind!" Hamilton shouted at the sky.

Nothing changed, there were no howling gales that rattled window planes. Just the slight, natural breeze that accompanied storms.

"Yeah, well, fuck you too God." Hamilton flipped off the sky.

In response, another thunderclap shook the house. Hamilton jumped and returned to his desk. The next caused his hand to involuntarily clean off his desk, sending papers to the floor and spilling his ink bottle all over his letters.

"Shit," Hamilton stooped to clean up the mess, jumping at the next loud boom. An incessant pounding came from downstairs, Eliza answered the door, Hamilton listened intently, who would be out in a storm like this?

"Come in, come in! It's pouring out!" Eliza ushered someone inside. "What are you doing out in the middle of a storm.

"Mrs. Hamilton," the person responded, the familiar voice floated up to him. Hamilton made his way to the top of the stairs. "I need Mr. Hamilton, it's important. Please, hurry, there's no time for common courtesy."

"I-I'll go get him."

"I'm here," Hamilton said from the top of the stairs, hand resting on the railing, "Mr. Madison, what do you need."

"It's Jefferson."

Hamilton's heart stopped. "What happened?" he demanded.

"He's in bad shape. We have to go  _now."_

Hamilton disappeared back into his office, tying his neckerchief in place and shrugging on his coat as quickly as he could and descended the stairs. "What's happened," he asked, heading for the door. Madison was about to start explaining but Eliza clutched on to Hamilton's arm. "Alexander,"

"Eliza," he kissed her forehead. "I have to leave,"

"Alexander-"

"Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now. I'm alive and I'm needed. What's the point of being alive if you don't use your seconds when you're needed? Jefferson needs me,"

"You could die in that storm, if you risk your life you won't have seconds to spend when you're needed, stay with me," Eliza begged.

"I've been through worse, dear. This is nothing compared to a hurricane. I'll be fine." Another thunderclap sounded, making Hamilton jump, he pretended that didn't just happen for the sake of his pride.

"Don't go," she begged.

"I have to. Jefferson needs me."

"I need you!" Eliza shot back.

"You've never needed me, Eliza, I've always needed you," he said softly, squeezing her hand, pulling it from his arm and pushed his way out the door and into the storm. That's when the wind finally decided to make an appearance. Of course, that's just his luck.

They ran. Heads ducked against the wind, collars up, coat held tightly around them. The wind buffeted them this way and that. Lightning crackled across the sky and the thunder made Hamilton go temporarily deaf. Madison was talking, trying to tell him what happened but Hamilton could only see his lips moving. Madison seemed to realize this and fell silent, putting all his energy toward running.

Jefferson. Something had happened to Jefferson. He could be dying. Why did Madison come to Hamilton? Jefferson never came to Hamilton for anything, except when Jefferson stole his candles, why would that change now? It wouldn't unless something horrible had happened. Hamilton shook his head and redoubled his speed. It wasn't important. Not right now. What mattered was getting there and making sure Jefferson was alright. He had to be. The vice president couldn't die. The vice president was never the one to die.

That evil voice that always tells you the worst things chose that moment to appear. Because why not? Hamilton was already worried, why not make it worse?

_You know everyone dies, Hamilton. Everyone only has so many seconds upon this Earth. Jefferson's is up. He's out of time._

_And you're running out._

Hamilton ran faster.

Madison pulled them to a stop and flung open a door, hurrying inside. Hamilton struggled to pull it closed behind them, the wind working against him. Inside was quiet. Too quiet. The storm seemed like it was in another dimension, muffled by the walls and Hamilton's growing concern. The house was silent.

Hamilton stripped off all his outer clothing, throwing it carelessly toward the hooks, probably missing, as he raced up the stairs to Jefferson's bedroom. Madison was left on his own downstairs, panting for breath and coughing. Hamilton knew he'd be up in a minute, when he could.

He burst through Jefferson's door, "Jefferson!" he yelled and quickly regretted it. Jefferson was fast asleep. Hamilton stood there, blinking for a minute. He didn't understand. There didn't seem to be anything the matter. That's when he noticed the shallow breaths, the sweat that covered him, the ragged breathing pattern. Hamilton could feel the heat rolling off of him from where he stood.

"No, don't do this," Jefferson mumbled in his sleep, tossing and turning.

"Jefferson," Hamilton whispered, taking a couple steps forward.

Madison appeared next to him, walking into the room. "He's been sick for days. He was getting better. Just yesterday, he was up and walking around, but a couple hours ago, he took a turn for the worst. He's been in and out of consciousness ever since. He's delirious. I haven't left his side, I haven't gotten any sleep. Last time he woke up, he called for you. He wanted to tell you something but I have no idea what."

"Thank you for getting me, Madison," Hamilton said quietly, "You should go home, get some sleep. You've been working hard, you deserve rest. I'll look after him for a while."

Madison nodded and left the room silently, going down the couch downstairs and crashing. No way was he running through that storm again.

"Oh, Jefferson," Hamilton whispered, approaching the bed. He took a rag out of a basin of water, rang it out, and wiped Jefferson's forehead with it.

Jefferson moaned and tossed more. His face was tear stained, he was obviously having a nightmare of sorts. Hamilton was all too familiar with those, remembering his last one. "Shh, Jefferson, it's alright. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. I'm here for you."

Jefferson calmed ever so slightly, so Hamilton kept murmuring softly to the man, wiping the sweat from his head. When Jefferson was mostly calm, Hamilton got up. He couldn't stand his rain drenched clothes anymore.

He opened up Jefferson's closet and grabbed a simple, billowy, white shirt and some brown pants. Hopefully, Jefferson wouldn't mind. Hamilton walked into another room and changed, they were a little big on him but they would work. When he returned, Jefferson was tossing again, so Hamilton laid his clothes out by the fire and laid down next to Jefferson, his back propped up on the wall. He pulled Jefferson close and ran his hand through Jefferson's hair, murmuring quietly. It didn't take long for Jefferson to settle.

And it didn't take much longer for Hamilton to fall asleep, half sitting, half lying down, his body supporting Jefferson's head.

**\----**


	17. Six

 

When Hamilton woke the next morning, his concern grew. Jefferson seemed to be in even worse condition. He was pale, his breathing was labored, eyes screwed shut, skin clammy and covered in sweat, and now, he broke out in convulsing coughs that wracked his whole body. What hit Hamilton hardest was the fact he couldn't do much of anything. All Hamilton could do was make sure Jefferson got plenty of rest and ate plenty of food. That was harder than it sounds.

He drew the curtains closed, making sure the room was quiet and dark, just how Jefferson liked it. A candle burned in the corner, just enough light for Hamilton to read by but all his attempts to read only got him going over the same paragraph over and over. He wasn't absorbing a single word.

He was just too worried. People were known to die from lesser illnesses.

Madison stopped by later that day and told Hamilton to go home. Reluctantly, Hamiton did. It wasn't until he stood on his doorstep he remembered that Eliza had been worried sick about him going out in a storm and hadn't heard from him sent. Hamilton was going to get an earful for that. Oops.

He opened the door, "Honey, I'm home," he called out. No response. "Eliza?" Well okay then, no one home. At least he didn't have to deal with the lecture yet. Hamilton immediately went to his office where he found a note.

_Alexander,_

_Went out for Phillip's birthday._

_Your Loving Wife,_   
_-Elizabeth Hamilton_

Well, shit. Hamilton was so dead when she got home. He had two options. Wait and get it over with, or run for it and hope she doesn't explode.

He took option two, naturally. As much as he wanted to check on Jefferson, he had to get  _some_ work done and there was only one place he could go for that. Scooping up a pile of documents, he left. Though, he didn't get very far. Instead, he ended running into an old friend and ended up walking into a tavern. Smart move. By the time he emerged, slightly tipsy, it was the middle of the night. He bid Morris a good night and instead of heading home like a smart person, he pressed on with his errand.

_Knock knock knock knock_

Footsteps approached, the door swung open.

"Alexander?" a sleepy Burr asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Aaron Burr, sir."

"It's the middle of the night," Burr pointed out. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a wife that you should be with?"

"Can we confer, sir?" Hamilton asked, shifting his papers.

"Is this a legal matter?" Burr asked, eyeing the documents tiredly.

"Yes, and it's important to me."

"More important than spending time with your loved one before you run out time?" Burr asked. Hamilton rose a brow, Burr was still mourning his wife, Theodosia. Burr sighed, "What do you need?" Anything to get Hamilton off his doorstep faster.

"Burr, you're a better lawyer than me," Hamilton began.

"Okay." Burr prayed he'd get the point quickly.

"I know I talk too much, I'm abrasive. You're incredible in court. You're succinct, persuasive. My client needs a strong defense, you're the solution."

"This sounds like you're trying to pitch the Constitution to me again. Get to the point. Who's your client?"

"The entire nation," Hamilton said sheepishly.

Burr face palmed. He going to kill him. Burr was going to kill Hamilton. "No." Then slammed the door in Hamilton's face.

"Someone's moody," Hamilton called through the wood.

"ITS FUCKING THREE IN THE FUCKING MORNING! GO THE FUCK HOME BEFORE I SHOOT YOU IN THE FACE!" Burr screamed from inside, sliding locks closed.

"Jeez, fine." Hamilton shifted his grip on his papers and headed toward home. Halfway there, he decided waking up the house by coming home in the middle of the night would be rude, so he went to Jefferson's to make sure Madison could get some sleep tonight.

As soon as Hamilton arrived, Madison went home, dark circles under his eyes. Jefferson looked about the same before and it was worrying Hamilton that he wasn't getting better. Madison said he had called a physician but they could do nothing for him. It was all up to Jefferson.

Hamilton settled into his spot by Jefferson's side. His body was hot, too hot. Heat rippled off him in waves. His body tensed as another set of coughs rocked through him, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"Jefferson," Hamilton whispered worriedly, wiping it away, "You can't die on me." Jefferson's eyes opened ever so slightly, they were unfocused, but he was conscious. Hamilton smiled down at him, "Promise me, Jefferson, promise you won't die without me."

Jefferson's twitched into a small smile, "I promise," he said hoarsely.

Hamilton got up and retrieved water for him. "Can you eat?" he asked, but Jefferson was already asleep again.

***

Jefferson's fever broke in the middle of the night. Hamilton was so relieved but he couldn't stick around for Jefferson to wake up. As soon as Madison showed up, Hamilton took off. He had to go home. He'd been gone for two days now, Eliza would be worried sick and then livid.

Hamilton regretted taking option two as soon as he walked in through that door.

She exploded.

***

He spent the next few days in his office. He didn't eat much and hardly slept at all but that was all normal. He was able to wrap up some of his cases and wrote back to all the letters he got asking for his advice.

Sitting back in his chair, he was enjoying the sight of a clean desk for once. He finished all his work. All he had were his ink bottles, his quills, some clean parchment, and the book Jefferson gave him all neatly organized. It was beautiful. Hamilton's eyes caught on the book, he hadn't had a chance to even touch it yet. He could start on that right now, he had nothing else to do.

Then Eliza walked in, dropped a stack of letters as high as the pyramids on his desk and walked out again.

He sighed and went back to work, pushing the book aside again.

**\----**


	18. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The letter included is real and was actually written by Alexander Hamilton.

"How can you work so much?" Eliza asked, rubbing Hamilton's shoulders tenderly, digging into the knots that plagued him. Their relationship was finally smoothing out again. As long as Hamilton didn't do anything overly stupid, everything would be back to normal soon.

"For once, I am not working," Hamilton said, glancing at his wife, "This is a letter to Phillip. He's been in college for a while now. I'm so proud of him."

"Me too, honey," Eliza smiled. Hamilton could see his son, sitting in a dorm, reading this letter after a hard day and it made him smile.

 _To_   _Philip A. Hamilton_

_Philadelphia December 5_

_1791_

_I received with great pleasure My Dear Philip the letter which you wrote me last week.Your Mama and myself were very happy to learn that you are pleased with your situation and content to stay as long as shall be thought for your good. We hope and believe that nothing will happen to alter this disposition._

_Your Master also informs me that you recited a lesson the first day you began, very much to his satisfaction. I expect every letter from him will give me a fresh proof of your progress. For I know that you can do a great deal, if you please, and I am sure you have too much spirit not to exert yourself, that you may make us every day more and more proud of you._

_Your Mama has got an Ovid for you and is looking up your_ _Mairs_ _introduction. If it cannot be found tomorrow another will be procured and the books with the other articles she promised to send you will be forwarded in two or three days._

_You remember that I engaged to send for you next Saturday and I will do it, unless you request me to put it off. For a promise must never be broken; and I never will make you one, which I will not fulfil as far as I am able. But it has occurred to me that the Christmas holidays are near at hand, and I suppose your school will then break up for some days and give you an opportunity of coming to stay with us for a longer time than if you should come on Saturday. Will it not be best for you, therefore, to put off your journey till the holidays? But determine as you like best and let me know what will be most pleasing to you._

_A good night to my darling son. Adieu_

_A Hamilton_

_Master Philip A Hamilton_

Hamilton folded up the letter, sealed it and set it in the stack with the rest of the letters he would send out that day. Phillip had his entire life ahead of him.

***

Hamilton stood outside Jefferson's door, waiting for Madison to answer. To his surprise, a bedraggled Jefferson stood before him instead, decked out in pajamas and everything.

"Alexander?" Jefferson said, surprised.

"If you ever become president, you have to answer the door like that," Hamilton said, completely brought off subject by seeing Jefferson answer the door like he did.

Jefferson rose a brow and crossed his arms, "And if you become president, you have to wear a dress to take the oath. What are you doing here?" Jefferson asked, stepping aside and inviting him inside.

"The last time I saw you, you were knocking on death's door. I came to check on you, asshole."

"Bastard."

"A thank you would be nice."

"To stroke your ego?"

"I stayed up all night looking after you."

"I never asked," Jefferson smiled. Hamilton was staring defiantly at him, so he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hamilton's ear, "Merci _(Thank you)_ ," he said sincerely.

Hamilton blushed, "Well, you seem to be doing a lot better."

"Of course!" Jefferson shouted enthusiastically, "The moment I could crawl out of that awful bed, I went to the kitchen and made macaroni and cheese! The cure all for everything!"

"You're unbelievable."

"And you're short."

"Fuck you, I'm going home." That's exactly what he did.

When Hamilton got there, Phillip was standing in his office. "Phillip? What are you doing here son? Aren't you supposed to be in college?"

"I need some advice, dad, and you're the best person I know."

"What's wrong, Phillip?"

"I-I have a duel in the morning, with George Eacker."

"What?! What h-"

"Pops, if you had only heard the shit he said about you. I doubt you would have let it slide and I was not about to-" Philip's words tumbled out his mouth as he gestured wildly.

"Slow down," Hamilton said, steading Philip's shoulders

"I came to ask you for advice, this is my very first duel. They don't exactly teach the subject in boarding school."

"Did your friends attempt to negotiate a peace?"

"He refused to apologize, we had to let the peace talks cease."

"Where is this happening?"

"Across the river, in Jersey."

"-Everything is legal in New Jersey."

"-Everything is legal in New Jersey.

"Alright, so here's what you're gonna do; stand there like a man until Eacker is in front of you. When the time comes, fire your weapon in the air. This will put an end to the whole affair."

"But what if he decides to shoot? Then I'm a goner."

"No, he'll follow suit if he's truly a man of honor. To take someone's life, that's something you can't shake. Philip, your mother can't take another heartbreak."

"Father-"

"Promise me. You don't want this young man's blood on your conscious."

"Okay, I promise."

"Come back home when you're done. Take my guns. Be smart. Make me proud, son."

Philip nodded glumly and left. Hamilton stood there and watched him go. He'd be okay. Less than 14% of duels end in death. He'll be okay. Philip will be okay. Laurens was fine in his duel with Lee. Lee lived too. Philip will be perfectly okay. Hamilton had been in far too many and he was fine.

That didn't mean sleep came easily that night.

When morning finally did arrive Hamilton couldn't take it anymore. He set off after his son.

**\----**


	19. Stay Alive

****"Where's my son?!"

"Mr. Hamilton, come in, they brought him in half an hour ago. He lost a lot of blood on the way over."

"Is he alive?"

"Yes, but you have to understand, the bullet entered just above his hip and lodged in his right arm."

"Can I see him please?" Hamilton cried desperately.

"I'm doing everything I can, but the wound was already infected when he arrived-"

Hamilton rushed to his son, "Philip," he said, his voice breaking.

"Pa," Philip said weakly, his hand reaching for his father. "I did exactly as you said, Pa. I held my head up high."

"I know, I know, shh."

"High."

"I know, I know, shh."

"You would have been so proud."

"I am proud, you did everything just right."

"Even before we got to ten-"

"Shh,"

"-I was aiming for the sky."

"I know, I know, shh."

"Pa, you've watched over me all my life."

"Don't say anything, Philip," Hamilton pleaded.

"I'm so proud to call you my dad." Hamilton broke. "I could do anything with you behind me," Philip choked. "Please, Pa, I don't want to say goodbye!"

"I know, I know, shh. Save your strength and stay alive!"

"No!" Eliza screamed from the doorway.

"Eliza," Hamilton said, "come quickly."

"Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?" Eliza was frantic. Then she turned on Hamilton, "Alexander, did you know? Because if you did-"

"Yes, I knew."

"Alex-"

"Mom," Philip winced, "I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me."

Eliza rushed to him, clutching his hand, "My son-"

"We played piano," Philip smiled, remembering happier times.

Eliza smiled sadly, "You changed the melody every time."

"I would always change the line,"

"I know, I know. Your melody was always the most beautiful."

"You taught me French."

Eliza smiled fondly, masking her grief. "That's right. You still remember?" Philip nodded. "Un, deux, trois, quatre-"

"Un, deux, trois, quatre,"

"cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

"cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

"Good," her voice broke.

"Un, deus, trois, quatre-"

"Un, deus, trois..."

"cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf." Eliza clutched his hand harder, willing him to continue, "Sept, huit, neuf-" Eliza watched as a tear rolled down Philip's face. "Huit, neuf-" she broke into sobs.

Hamilton and Eliza clung to their son's lifeless body, willing him to live with every ounce of their souls.

The doctor quietly packed his bag.

"Stay alive," Hamilton breathed.

***

Hamilton sat in his temporary office, staring at the wall. And didn't move.

They had to pry him away from his son. When they finally did, Hamilton blacked out. He couldn't remember much after that. When he finally came to, he still had Philip's blood on him. It was soaked into his clothes, smeared on his hands and face, and crusted in his hair. And no matter how many times he washed it off, it was still there. He scrubbed himself raw, but it was still there. It was always going to be there.

With all his soldier's blood.

With Laurens' blood.

Eliza was nowhere to be seen but he honestly didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore. Letters piled up on his desk, he didn't know how they got there. The stacks just kept getting bigger, soon, they toppled over and covered Hamilton's feet.

Still, he didn't move.

Eliza came in and screamed at him at one point. "You killed our son! How could you let him go off and throw himself into danger? Into his own death? You  _knew_  and did  _nothing_. You killed him! It's all your fault! I never want to see you again!" He only caught tidbits, but he got the message. Not exactly sure when that happened, maybe it didn't, he didn't really know.

Still, he didn't move.

How many days had passed? He had no idea. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. His body was weak, his mind was absent, he hadn't eaten, he hasn't slept, he's barely had any water.

Another day passed

And another.

Eliza's divorce papers got mixed in with all the other letters. And the days dragged on.

***

Jefferson stood in the doorway, watching Hamilton stare at the wall. He's been like that for days. Jefferson came as soon as he heard. Eliza took off, so it was just him. He couldn't get Hamilton to talk or eat, but he did manage to get him to drink some water. He tried talking to him but never got a response or an indication that Hamilton heard. Jefferson wasn't entirely sure Hamilton knew he was there. He wasn't entirely sure if Hamilton was even there anymore. Seeing him that way broke his heart, he knew the pain all too well. Far too well. It was bringing up old memories he much rather left forgotten.

Jefferson tried his best, but he was running out of options. He finally decided a change of scenery would help. So he picked Hamilton up, grabbed a couple of his things, threw him in a carriage, and carted him off.

Now he sat in Jefferson's room staring at a wall instead.

"Stay alive..." Hamilton whispered.

**\----**


	20. 1

 

Jefferson walked into his room one day to find Hamilton standing and looking around."Alexander!" he exclaimed happily, running to him and throwing his arms around him.

"J-Jefferson?"

"Thank God!" Jefferson said, overjoyed to see Hamilton up and around. He pulled away, "Can you eat?" Hamilton still hadn't eaten much for days and it was really starting to show. His clothes hung loosely on his frame, his eyes were sunken in and were dull and dark, his cheeks looked hollow, his hair didn't have its usual shine to it but hung limply instead. Hamilton's lips were chapped and he just seemed ready to topple over at any second. In fact, Jefferson didn't let go of his shoulders just in case that might happen.

Hamilton lowered his gaze, "I don't feel like it right now."His voice was raspy from lack of use.

"Alexander, you haven't eaten in days, you have to eat something."

"I will. Just, not right now. Later, okay?"

Jefferson pulled him for a warm hug. If anyone needed a hug at that moment, it was Hamilton. "Okay, whatever you need and I'll get it for you."

Hamilton's hands hung limply at his sides but he let Jefferson support his weight. He was warm and Hamilton wanted nothing more than to just melt into him, disappear forever. "Some water would be fantastic."

"Of course!" Jefferson disengaged his hug but left one hand on Hamilton's shoulder as he reached for the glass, happy for his unnatural height and long arms that allowed him to reach it. Hamilton took it and drank a few swallows before handing it back. "Drink a little more, darlin'. You need it." Hamilton nodded and forced himself to finish the glass. Jefferson took it from and set it aside, hugging him again. "Do you want to go downstairs or somewhere?"

"No, I'd rather go to bed and let the blackness of unconsciousness wipe away all memories so I can wake up and never remember this pain again."

Jefferson sighed. That wasn't what he hoped to hear but least it was an improvement over Hamilton sitting silently and staring at a wall. "Alright." Jefferson guided Hamilton over to the bed, not because he needed help getting there but because Jefferson wanted to help him and be there for him. If Hamilton were himself, he'd push Jefferson away and say that he could take care of himself. The fact that he didn't is what worried Jefferson the most, Hamilton's whirlwind of endless energy was gone.

After he made sure Hamilton was comfortable, Jefferson began to get ready for his full day of work. Hamilton wished that Jefferson would stay, maybe even crawl in with him and keep him warm. Jefferson seemed to be the only warm thing in the world anymore. 

With one last glance toward the sleeping Hamilton, reluctantly, Jefferson left for a long day of work. The Senate had some bills to vote on, bills that Jefferson prayed with every bit of his being wouldn't pass. They would permit the apprehension of people who spoke against the government. It oppressed French immigrants and took away the freedom of speech. Surely, such a thing wouldn't make it past the Senate.

It did. Adams would shoot it down though. Jefferson may not agree with his political views all the time but he could trust him to never allow such an act to be passed.

On his way back home, he stopped by Hamilton's old office and picked up all of the work that had been piling up, left ignored and forgotten. Jefferson had noticed that Hamilton's method of coping was to push aside his grief and throw himself relentlessly into his work. It wasn't the healthiest method but anything was better than him slowly starving to death. When he got home, he plopped it down on his own desk, and went to check on Hamilton, who, it seems, hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep but just laid there instead.

This wasn't good. Jefferson had to fix this and fast. Hamilton was wasting away, he couldn't allow that to happen. No. If Jefferson could make it through the deaths of seven of his children and his wife, Hamilton could make it through this. He had to. Or what reason would Jefferson have to go on? He laid his hand down on Hamilton's shoulder, "Darlin', come on, you have so much work to do." Hamilton looked up at him and then over to the desk piled high with papers and letters and back to Jefferson and nodded, throwing back the blankets and going over the desk and plopping down, looking at the daunting task ahead of him. Jefferson handed him a quill and smiled, a supporting hand on his shoulder.

"I have so much work to do." Hamilton shrugged off Jefferson's hand and bent over his work. Jefferson headed to the kitchen to make some of his famous mac & cheese, the cure all for everything. When he returned to Hamilton with a steaming bowl in hand, he had already written out fifteen or so pages. Holy shit.

"That's more like you," Jefferson whispered to himself. Placing the bowl in front of Hamiton, he stole a piece already done. "What is this?" he asked, scanning the page.

"None of your fucking business," Hamilton replied, trying to snatch it back. Jefferson danced out of his reach, laughing. "Oh my God! You've been running Adams' cabinet this whole time? No wonder the nation is sinking," Jefferson cackled, waving the paper around. Hamilton launched across the room, tackling Jefferson to the floor and snatching his parchment back. When he sat down again, Jefferson was still rolling on the floor, cackling.

"If you want me to work, then shove off," Hamilton snapped.

Jefferson sat up, "Oh just eat your food for fuck's sake."

"I'm not touching that bowl of shit with a ten-foot pole."

"I will shove it down your throat."

"Try me." Hamilton stared daggers, arms crossed over his chest.

Jefferson sighed, grabbed the bowl and went back to the kitchen, making something else for him instead.

***

Hamilton actually slept that night.

It was the worst night of his life. Nightmares plagued him, taunting him, showing him everything he did wrong, everything he could've done differently, everything he lost or never gained. It showed the life bleeding from his mother and his soldiers. And his son.

He woke with a gasp to the soft murmurings of Jefferson. At first, he was relieved, but then a blinding rage settled over him, the kind of rage that only seemed to appear when the sadness ran so deep and there was nothing he could do about, the type of hate that made him want to punch glass just for sensation of glass breaking under his fist and cutting into his skin. Hamilton shoved Jefferson away, screaming, "Get off me! I don't need your help!"

Jefferson immediately backed away. Hamilton went on, "Why would I need you? You don't even know what it's like!" Hamilton paused when Jefferson's face shut off completely and his eyes went cold and hard. Jefferson was suddenly reliving and feeling the grief that never really completely went away. He wiped his eyes quickly and Hamilton hung his head knowing he had just screwed up, tears pouring down his face. What had he done? How could he say such a thing? Hadn't he already caused enough damage? He hated himself so much at this point that he decided that he didn't really care. Jefferson sat on the bed and raised Hamilton's face with a finger and wiped away Hamilton's tears.

"I know exactly what it's like," he whispered sadly, kindly. "It'll get better."

Hamilton wanted more than anything to curl up in Thomas's arm and never move again, but instead, all he said was, "Get out of here, Jefferson. Leave me alone."

And to Hamilton's dismay, Jefferson respected his wishes and did just that, closing the door softly behind him.

Jefferson took a walk. It was only after midnight and his mind wasn't anywhere near tired, even if his body was exhausted. All he wanted was to sleep peacefully, but what he really needed was a quiet walk.

So he that's what he did. Walks always soothed him. The night dulled sharp pain into a deep ache, that was the type of pain he learned to live with. He was used to it. Jefferson wished he never dreamed. It would be so much better than the nightmares he had. That was something he and Hamilton seemed to have in common. That, and restlessness.

Which is why it broke his heart to see Hamilton so broken. Jefferson could remember exactly what it was like when he lost his first child. And then the next. And the next. Despite what people may think, losing people doesn't get easier with each passing. It gets so much harder. Imagine losing the same person over and over again, how that would feel, knowing each time that he could do nothing to save them, to change the outcome, he was always too late. Each and every time. 

Jefferson was a broken man.

Not that he'd let anyone see that. He covered it up with sass, witty remarks, and a confident strut that said he owned the place. That's who he was. That's who he became. It was how he coped. He just stopped being him and became someone else entirely. Hamilton reminded him of who he was, who he used to be. God, it hurt.

Hamilton dredged it all back up, the pain he kept buried for so long, stirred in his chest, bringing with it memories he'd left undisturbed and forgotten. Him and the children racing over hills, tumbling through the grass. Martha and him taking leisurely rides through the forest in the fall. Family snowball fights. Evenings where everyone sat closely and cozily around the fire, drinking tea and reading their favorite books. Jefferson remembered when he used to read them to sleep. Or when he taught them how to place their fingers just right on a violin string. He remembered having full conversations in French and Latin.

But it was all gone now. And it wasn't coming back.

***

Hamilton heard Jefferson return. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't bring himself to. So he laid there silently as Jefferson blew out the candles and left the room again. Hamilton could hear his footsteps travel all the way to the library. Hamilton sighed. He had to do something and he wasn't getting any sleep tonight anyway. He threw on a robe and went after Jefferson. When he entered the library, he found Jefferson bent over a desk, signing off on some paperwork.

"Do you always work this late at night?" Hamilton asked.

Jefferson tiredly rubbed his face, "Why do you think I'm always to work late?"

"Because you're a lazy asshole who can't take his job seriously," Hamilton shrugged.

"And you're a bastard that can't see past his own pride to see what's really the best thing for the country."

Hamilton smirked, "Glad we got that established."

"Go back to bed," Jefferson said half-heartedly.

"Only if you come too."

Jefferson turned and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"If you're going to think along those lines, you can sleep on the floor. I meant you need to come up stairs and sleep as well. You're not sleeping with me." Hamilton said, too tired to think of something clever to say. "Look, you've got my level bags under your eyes, that's hard to do. You need some sleep."

"Alright," Jefferson conceded, putting down his quill and shuffled some books and papers around, cleaning up for the night.

Hamilton flopped onto the bed and Jefferson landed on the couch. "Have you read that book yet?" Jefferson asked.

"What book- oh. Right. No, not yet. I will though. There's just been so much going on."

A beat of quiet. "Do you want to get out of New York for awhile?" Jefferson asked.

"What?"

"Well, I'd like to have a bed again and Monticello has plenty of guest rooms."

"Are you saying you want to go back to Monticello? And you're inviting me?"

Jefferson shrugged. "Adams doesn't let me do much anyway. He'd be delighted to have me gone for a while." Honestly, both Hamilton and Jefferson just needed a break.

"You sure about that? Doesn't he use your presence as an excuse to go to Manhattan every other second."

Jefferson chuckled, "I'll guess he'll have to finally do his job."

"I think I'll write a letter the arrogant son of a bitch."

"Have fun with that."

"Oh, I plan too." Hamilton could already see the insults he was going to hurl.

**\----**


	21. 2

 

Despite Jefferson's deep desires to retire to Monticello, Adams insisted upon him attending a dinner with several other members. Among them being: Hamilton, Washington, Burr, Madison, and a couple others.

Upon their arrival, the air was already thick with tension. Washington had politely declined due to his deteriorating health, but every other member there was delighted with the chance to voice their political views to the president and vice president. The main one being the looming conflict with France and England. Jefferson was also going to jump on the opportunity. Adams had allowed that fucking bill to pass, even if it was at the insistence of his cabinet, which Hamilton was pretty much in control of.

"What we need is a standing army to defend our borders," Hamilton insisted again, slamming his fist on the table.

"As you know, we are building a navy and fortifying ports. We don't need anything else at this time," Adams restated.

"You're preparing for war against France?" Jefferson asked, "I thought it was your intention to keep the peace?"

"It is-" Adams started

"War with France is inevitable. We need to start preparing now," Hamilton insisted. "The French feel it their right to infringe on our commerce with England! They capture our ships-"

"Just as the English do with those bound for France?" Jefferson asked.

"So we'll arm the merchant ships," Adams appeased.

"At least it's a step in the right direction," Hamilton huffed.

"No, what really bothers me is that you would trample all over the Constitution. Adams?!" Jefferson said, appalled, "These bills you have signed, they are against the very core of the Constitution! They'd allow a man to be jailed or carted off just for saying what he thinks! The whole point of this nation was so the people could speak!"

"Maybe not all of them should," Hamilton countered.

"Are you saying that the rights of the people-" Jefferson argued heatedly.

"-Gentlemen," Adams interrupted, "the signing of those bills was based on the principles behind them, to avoid war. Nothing more."

"Those documents oppress the people Adams! French immigrants are not all spies with the sole purpose of tearing this nation apart!" Jefferson retorted.

"Not all of them, but enough of them could be. It doesn't take many to undo a country. Those of us here should know that best," Hamilton replied.

"That's no excuse to punish an entire people!" Jefferson yelled. "Adams, what you're doing is plunging us into war."

"Would you care so much if he did if it were against the English and not the French, Jefferson?" Hamilton asked.

"Neutrality is best for the nation-" Jefferson began.

"War is what the people want," Hamilton interrupted.

"But it's not what the people need!" Adams yelled. "Hamilton, they call me the war monger, but if anyone is trying for war, it is you! I will not stand to have you inciting the people into a rage that could tear this nation apart with your pamphlets and newspapers!"

"You should do well to remember the reason you are in that chair,  _President_  Adams. Three votes. Votes that can easily be influenced," Hamilton threatened.

"I will not be ruled over by you as you ruled over Washington!" Adams shouted, "and it is only through Washington that you hold any rank in the army at all!"

"Touch my rank as second in command and George will refuse to even participate in the war, let alone be acting General."

Jefferson rubbed his face in exhaustion. "Gentleman, sometimes I feel as though I'm the only one here who truly supports peace with all nation's. Adams, you seem ready to go war, even if you claim otherwise. Hamilton, you've been jumping at every opportunity to pick up a sword again and charge into the fray. Our nation is too delicate yet. Going to war against either France or England would be suicide. We'd go bankrupt and turning into squabbling children and any country could swoop in and claim the land as theirs and turn us back into colonies, undoing the work of the past so many years of blood, sweat, and tears of good men."

"Then you'd feel much more at home, wouldn't you Jefferson? Being among your own kind?" Hamilton snapped.

"I'm surrounded by monarchists," Jefferson sighed. "Let's adjourn for the night."

Everyone agreed, too tired to argue otherwise.

Jefferson and Hamilton walked along the road on their way home. "I thought you retired?" Jefferson taunted.

"I thought you were going to Monticello."

"Francophile."

"War monger."

"Asshole."

"Bastard."

They broke down laughing, the tension from before suddenly defused. "Did you see how red Adams' face got?" Hamilton snickered.

"He looked ready to throw something!" Jefferson laughed.

"Probably his wig."

***

Jefferson wanted more than anything to keep Hamilton laughing, but his good mood didn't last long. Almost as soon as they stepped in through Jefferson's door, Hamilton crashed. Not to sleep, but emotionally. He fell into a chair by a cold fireplace and just sat there. It was like he was keeping himself together through the dinner by sheer force of will.

Jefferson's heart ached.

He started a fire and got Hamilton some tea, which Hamilton simply held onto, the warmth seeping into his hands. Jefferson rubbed his back soothingly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Hamilton stayed silent. "I always thought myself a hero," Hamilton said at last.

"What do you mean?"

"I was going to do something important, I was going to fight in wars and be a deciding factor, die gloriously and my name would give strength to men. I was going to go down in history a hero. A legend. That's all I've ever wanted since I was a boy. Be someone that inspired by the mention of my name, like Washington. Instead, I argue with everyone on the planet, my wife left me, my son is dead, and I'm living in my nemesis' house because I have nowhere else to go.  Now I'm being torn apart by thoughts that I never imagined I'd have." Very inappropriate ones at that.

"Okay, let's see, let's tackle those one at a time. You fought in the revolutionary war, helping us gain our independence. In fact, your regiment was key to victory, but even more so, your pen. Without your pen, we never would have gotten off the back porch. You may not have died in a glorious and dramatic way, but your name will be remembered as a founding father of a country destined for greatness. That's pretty cool. Your arguments point out flaws in other people's ideas, even if yours are a load of crap. Now your family is not the greatest, and there's not much to be done about that other than to keep going and hope it gets better. The thoughts I can't help with because I don't know what they are. Care to enlighten me?"

Hamilton sighed. He couldn't tell Jefferson. Not ever. But he wanted to so badly. Maybe he could just dance around it.

"It's not entirely appropriate," Hamilton responded evasively, "It's not something I would want to discuss with you." Lies. "Or anyone else for that matter," he added.

"Is that so?" Jefferson asked, circling around crouching down in front of Hamilton so they were eye to eye. At this point, Jefferson was fairly sure he knew what Hamilton was thinking, mostly because he'd been thinking it for a lot longer.

"It is," Hamilton replied, voice ever so slightly shaky, his cheeks heating.

Jefferson slid his hand into Alexander's, his face getting dangerously close to Hamilton's. Jefferson studied his dark brown eyes, his gaze flicking to Hamilton's lips. "Dommage _(Too bad)."_ Jefferson whispered huskily, pulling away and standing in front of the fireplace, blowing out a couple candles, "ça ressemble à une conversation intéressante _(it sounds like an interesting converstion),"_  the candlelight glinted off his dark skin, accentuating every visible dip and shape of Jefferson's muscles and body.

Shit. Hamilton crossed his legs. "Thomas-" but Jefferson was already walking away.

"Bonne nuit, ma chérie _(Goodnight, darling),"_ he called over his shoulder, disappearing up the stairs.

**\----**   
  



	22. 3

 

Hamilton heard the door to Jefferson's room shut. He sat there for a moment in shock, blinking at the candles, smoke still curling up from the wicks, there were still a couple burning. Candlelight, it was so beautiful, soft and warm. Hamilton stood, chugged down his tea, blew out the remaining candles so they wouldn't burn the house down and followed Jefferson upstairs. He opened the door quietly, slipping in and changing into his pajamas before turning to the bed.

For once, Jefferson claimed the bed instead of the couch. Well, it was Jefferson's bed after all, he was entitled to it. Hamilton settled on the couch, it smelled just like Jefferson which was only natural since he'd been sleeping on it for so long. Hamilton inhaled deeply, coconuts and the night winter air.

Fuck this.

Hamilton got off the couch and stood over Jefferson, examining his every feature as he slept. How relaxed his face looked, not a worry in the world, the long, dark, thick lashes, the carefully trimmed beard, and the hair, ooh the hair. Hamilton knew how it felt, soft and fluffy. It was the best thing in the world.

Hamilton suddenly wondered if Jefferson was really asleep. What if he wasn't? And Hamilton was just standing there looking at him. Fuck. He couldn't do it. Nope nope nope. Hamilton turned on his heel and went back to the couch but was stopped. A familiar strong grip on his wrist held him back. He looked back at Jefferson who looked up at him with dark eyes. The hand pulled Hamilton back. "Stay with me tonight, Alexander," Jefferson said heavily.

"Thomas..."

Jefferson tugged on Hamilton's arm gently, urging him, but not forcing him. Hamilton let Jefferson pull him down onto the bed and curled up. He felt Jefferson's warm embrace wrap around him, pulling him close. Hamilton melted into the warmth, something he hadn't felt since Jefferson had hugged him that time.

"Bonne nuit, ma chérie _(Good night, my darling)_ ," Jefferson whispered.

"Dormez bien, Thomas _(Sleep well, Thomas)_."

Neither of them had nightmares that night.

***

"Adams' is pissed," Jefferson stated, folding up a letter. 

"Good," Hamilton replied simply.

"You really went all out, didn't you?"

"I used almost every disgusting word in my vocabulary."

"When you say you're going to have fun writing something, you mean it, don't you?"

"Every time."

"You think he'll challenge you to a duel?"

"Adams? No way. He's too much of a coward, the most he'd do is yell and bitch."

"That leaves a problem," Jefferson said.

"Which is?"

"The next president."

"Ah. You aren't planning on running again, are you? Because you know there's no way I'll ever support you."

"I think you'd rather kiss Burr than support me."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"I have no intention of running on my own, but if my party decides to stick me on the ballet again, I will."

"People seem to do that to you a lot. So what are you going to do in your meantime?"

"Follow up on my offer," Jefferson stated plainly.

"What offer?"

"Alexander, would you like to see Monticello?"

Hamilton smiled, "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really," Jefferson smirked. "You're freeloading as it is, so when I leave, you'll have to find another place to stay."

"Shit. I need to get a new place."

"What was your first clue?"

"My wife burning down my house."

"Yeah, that's a pretty obvious one. Speaking of which, I hate to say it, but have you looked over the divorce papers she sent you?"

Hamilton sighed and set down his coffee. "No, the first time I picked them up, I couldn't take it, so I haven't touched them since."

"You're going to have to take care of them eventually. Whether it's signing them or stalking up to her door and refusing."

"What do you think on the matter?" Hamilton asked, curious.

"It's not my place to say," Jefferson replied, taking a sip of coffee and reading the paper.

"Well, I'm asking you anyway."

"Shit Alexander," Jefferson swore, turning a page, "Your slanderings of me are getting outrageous. I do not swear every other sentence." Hamilton rose his eyebrows. "Okay, but zealous atheist? Really? That's just mean. You know I'm not an atheist. Besides, there's nothing wrong with it either. Religious freedom, remember?"

"You say that like you don't slander me back."

"I don't. At least, not publically. Mostly to Madison. And maybe Burr sometimes."

"Burr? Really? Him of all people."

"Hey," Jefferson raised his hands, "He usually starts it."

Hamilton grumbled but went back to his coffee. Jefferson folded up the paper and looked at Hamilton, a smile stealing over his lips.

"What're you smirking at?"

"Oh, just how we didn't go to war and you're still pissed."

"Fuck off."

"Would you rather go to Paris than Monticello?" 

"And get my head chopped off? No thank you."

Jefferson laughed, "You're no fun. What's life without a little adventure?"

"What's life without a head?"

"Mainly body."

That's the moment Hamilton decided his coffee cup looked better on Jefferson's face because he threw it right at him. It smashed on the wall behind Jefferson who had managed to dodge it, accustomed to Hamilton's tendency to throw things. "Now get me a new cup of coffee," Hamilton commanded.

Jefferson pushed over his own and went upstairs to get dressed. Hamilton took a sip and spit it out, "You call this coffee?!" he yelled, "This is practically pure cream and sugar! What's wrong with you?" He could hear Jefferson cackling upstairs.

**\----**


	23. 4

 

Monticello.

Hamilton had no words. His jaw dropped. The beautiful architecture, the build, the way it was situated at the top of a hill so you could see forever.

Jefferson smiled at Hamilton's reaction. "I designed it myself. Tore it down and rebuilt it several times."

"It's magnificent," Hamilton breathed.

Jefferson pushed open the grand front doors and walked Hamilton inside, "Do you remember several years ago when you walked into my library?" he asked as he swung another set of doors open, revealing the massive library. Hamilton dropped like a stone. "Shit," Jefferson swore.

Hamilton woke in a broom closet. "You fucking asshole!" he screamed, bursting out.

"Oh, look who finally came out of the closet," Jefferson smirked. Hamilton reached for the first thing he could find, which happened to be a potted plant, and chucked it at Jefferson's head. He dodged easily, the pot broke against the wall and dirt showered everywhere, getting in Jefferson's hair. "Hey now, no reason to throw things. I promised you I would."

"You're an asshole."

"You're going to need to come up with more names to call me."

A dark skinned woman came down the hall and started cleaning up the broken pot. "Slaves?" Hamilton asked.

"You didn't know?"

"No, I knew, it just slipped my mind."

"I detest everything about it," Jefferson sighed, "but I can not think of a way to solve it. Over half the states rely on it and almost the entirety of the nation's commerce. I fear it may lead us to a civil war. But I can think of no way to solve it without causing more harm than good. What are your thoughts?"

Hamilton shrugged, "I don't like it, but I don't go nearly as far out of the way as you do to do anything about it. To do so is an inconvenience of the work I'm already doing."

"An inconvenience? They're people, Alexander. They deserve freedom."

"Says the one who actually owns them."

Jefferson hung his head, "I will think of a way to abolish it someday," Jefferson stated, "Even if it means letting it die out slowly, as long as it gets done. Slavery is a horrid thing."

"At least you fight against it, that's more than most people do."

"It's not enough."

Hamilton chuckled, "Angelica used to say something to me and I think it's appropriate here," Hamilton laid a hand on Jefferson's shoulder, "You will never be satisfied."

***

Jefferson finally got Hamilton to try his macaroni and cheese. Jefferson was delighted. Hamilton spat it out and swore for five minutes straight about how disgusting it was. 

Jefferson was less delighted.

At one point, Jefferson retired to his office to take care of some business he needed to see to since he'd been gone from Monticello for so long and it had begun to fall into disrepair. Upon his reemergence, he had to hunt down Hamilton, who was found curled up in a corner of the library with countless stacks of books around him. Jefferson smiled, grabbed one as well, and curled up next to him by the fire as they both read late into the night.

They fell asleep like that, in a nest made of knowledge and paper.

When they woke, they both were sore from the odd position they fell asleep in. Jefferson groaned, straightening out on the floor as Hamilton stood and stretched. Jefferson complained the entire time as he finally rose. After breakfast, Jefferson led Hamilton to the stables, where he had two horses saddled.

"Where are we going?" Hamilton asked.

"A morning ride."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"No. I do this every morning. Usually alone, but I want you to come today."

Jefferson quickly regretted his decision to include Hamilton on his daily morning ride. Hamilton just did. not. shut. up.

"-and if you were to take the money from the bank and transfer it to the-"

"For God's sake, Hamilton, shut your mouth for one fucking second and take in the scenery for a change. Listen to the birds. Look for deer. I don't care, just stop talking."

Silence fell between the two.

For about five seconds, then Hamilton started up again. Jefferson groaned.

***

They spent the entire day leisurely. At one point, Hamilton started to fidget, so Jefferson turned him loose in his office where Hamilton started outlining plans and discussing current events. Eventually, Jefferson dragged him down to dinner.

Afterward, they returned to the library, where Hamilton settled back into his nest of books, expecting for Jefferson to join him, only he didn't. Hamilton watched as Jefferson disappeared into the racks of books and reemerged with a long black case. Gingerly, he opened it and pulled out his violin, rosined up his bow, and facing the fire, he started to play. Hamilton set the book down on his chest, closed his eyes, and listened to the beautiful melody that filled the room.

Jefferson's entire body moved with the music, giving it life and feeling, without ever moving from his spot in front of the fire. The room was lit up with just the right amounts of candles whose light mixed with the firelight to make an ethereal image. It was one Hamilton would never forget. The melody that used to haunt him, driving him to sleepless nights, had faded away as Hamilton became a more and more constant factor in Jefferson's life, so he played a different song, a song that seemed to fit them better.

They stayed like that for a long time, Jefferson pouring his soul into his music, Hamilton listening like it would be the last thing he ever heard. After Jefferson finished the last note, Hamilton got up wrapped his arms around him from behind, "That was beautiful."

"*Music is the favorite passion of my soul,*" Jefferson hummed.

"I never learned," Hamilton mused, "I always had my nose in a book."

"Allow me to show you." Jefferson handed Hamilton his violin and positioned himself behind him. Hamilton felt his cheeks grow red, good thing Jefferson couldn't see. Jefferson guided Hamilton's arms into the correct position, showing him how to hold the bow, and placed his fingers over Hamilton's, guiding Hamilton as he moved the bow across the strings, managing a clear note to ring out. Hamilton was very pleased with himself.

Jefferson stepped away, signaling Hamilton to try it on his own.

Hamilton tentatively lifted the bow and slid it across the strings. The result was a horrific screech, Hamilton practically threw the instrument at Jefferson, who was laughing uncontrollably. Jefferson caught it out of the air, placed it up to his chin and played off several rapid notes before handing it back to Hamilton.

"Show off," Hamilton mumbled, placing the violin back up and trying again. This time the note was clear and loud.

"Good!" Jefferson beamed, "Now try the first finger placement," he instructed, manipulating Hamilton's fingers until they were placed properly. Hamilton managed a couple more notes before he placed the violin back in its case, indicating he was done embarrassing himself for the night.

Jefferson pulled him back as soon as Hamilton's fingers left the polished wood. "Is violin the only thing you play?" Hamilton asked, turning to face him.

"I can play cello too," Jefferson hummed, his eyes darkening.

"What can you not do?"

"Resist you," Jefferson answered, pulling Hamilton against him and kissing him tenderly. Hamilton's arms snaked around Jefferson pulling him tighter against him.  _Finally_. Jefferson deepened the kiss, Hamilton could feel heat pool within him, his hands traveled up Jefferson's back and into his hair, softly tugging causing Jefferson to moan and bite his lip. Hamilton smiled and tugged on Jefferson's hair again, feeling Jefferson's chest rumble, "Don't do that," he said hoarsely.

"Is this why you don't like people touching your hair?" Hamilton asked, teasing, tugging again. Jefferson growled as he pushed Hamilton back onto the couch and laid on top of him. Hamilton laughed and shoved him off the couch and onto the floor. Jefferson landed with a heavy thud and a groan as Hamilton cackled from the couch.

"That was rude," Jefferson said, not moving from where he landed. Hamilton propped himself up on an elbow to look down at Jefferson who was staring at the ceiling.

"Aww, and I was hoping you landed on your face."

"I will throw you back in the closet."

"Only if you can catch me!" Hamilton bolted, running out of the room before Jefferson was even able to pick himself off the floor.

"Unfair!" Jefferson called out after him, deciding not to move and let Hamilton run himself out thinking Jefferson was chasing him.

Hamilton cackled as he continued to run but with Jefferson's unnaturally long legs and Hamilton's short ones, it wouldn't take long for Jefferson to catch up, so Hamilton took a sharp turn, ran out the front doors, jumped on a horse bareback, and took off.

He returned later to find Jefferson patiently reading a book in bed. "Have a nice ride?"

"Indeed," Hamilton replied, crawling under the covers with him, "I even brought you back something."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Cold feet!" Hamilton placed his ice cube feet on Jefferson's warm skin.

"Jesus-fucking-christ, Alexander!" Jefferson swore, jolting away, flailing as he fell out of the bed and heavily to the floor, taking all the blankets with him. Hamilton laughed with great pleasure as Jefferson cussed him out, getting up and fixing the blankets before climbing back in. "Keep your damn feet to yourself," he grumbled as he pulled Hamilton close to his body. Hamilton paid him no mind and tucked his freezing feet under Jefferson's warm legs in an attempt to warm them up. Jefferson huffed but allowed it. Hamilton's last thought before falling asleep was he was going to master the cello secretly so he could play with Jefferson.

**\----**


	24. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the very bottom is a description of Washinton's death

 

Hamilton woke up the next morning happier than he could ever remember. Jefferson's arm held Hamilton close like he was afraid of Hamilton disappearing and never coming back. He looked up into the sleeping face of Jefferson and smiled, brushing some dark curls away from Jefferson's face.

Jefferson woke to a soft kiss on his lips.  Without even opening his eyes, he pulled the other person closer, kissing him back. After a moment of sweet bliss, Hamilton pulled away, smiling at Jefferson like he was his whole world.

"I can get used to waking up like this," Jefferson said softly.

"Mmm," Hamilton hummed happily. Then he shot out of bed, ripping the blankets off, "Rise and shine! It's a beautiful day! The sun is up! The birds are singing! There's stuff to be done! Let's go let's go let's go!"

Jefferson curled into a ball on the bare bed, "The air is so cold!"

"Pansy," Hamilton taunted, which earned him a pillow to the face. "I will drag your ass onto the floor," he threatened.

Jefferson grumbled and achingly slow, crawled off the bed. "Happy now?" he asked, straightening his pajamas.

"I am never happy until I get my morning coffee," Hamilton responded, throwing a pillow and the stack of blankets back onto the bed.

"Let's remedy that, shall we? I'll have some breakfast prepared and a bath drawn for you while we wait."

"What are going to do?"

"I have to make my rounds, check on the farm, give out instructions for the day, order supplies, all that nonsense."

Hamilton nodded. He didn't really know what most of that entailed, he'd never run a farm or a plantation. He only practiced law and governmental theory. Jefferson stepped into the closet and changed into some plain riding attire before making his way out of the house.

By the time he returned, Hamilton was clean and sitting down at the table, sipping his hot coffee. Jefferson poured himself a cup and settled across from him. As he ate, Hamilton watched him go through the mail that had arrived so far.

"It's almost Christmas," Hamilton said suddenly.

"Alexander, it's October."

"Which means Christmas!"

Jefferson sighed, "Which is a big deal because?"

"What do you mean?" Hamilton didn't understand his lack of enthusiasm.

"Why are you so excited?"

"Why are you not?"

"Christmas was never really that big of a deal in my family. Everyone got the day off, a bit candy, extra food, but not much else. There just wasn't time," Jefferson explained.

"That's depressing. My mom, brother, and I used to decorate  _everything_. And I mean everything. We'd sit down and drink hot chocolate, open a present if we could afford it that year. It's was a time we spent together as a family."

Jefferson smiled and held Hamilton's hand, lightly brushing his thumb against his skin, "Okay, we'll do Christmas. We'll decorate and everything. You're picking the tree though."

Hamilton studied the ceiling, trying to judge just how big of one he could stuff inside. "Deal."

After breakfast, Hamilton urged Jefferson to take his daily ride, insisting on staying behind and not breaking the tradition of it being solitary. And they both knew he talked too much anyway. But what Hamilton really wanted to do was get Jefferson out the house so he could practice the cello. If he wanted to be good enough to play something by Christmas, he'd have to practice every chance he got.

After Jefferson left, he stopped a dark skinned woman and kindly asked if she knew where a cello was. She smiled and nodded, retrieving it for him. He also asked if she would warn him when Jefferson was coming back. She nodded again and scuttled away.

Hamilton locked himself in the library, found a couple books on playing the cello, sat down and practiced.

He was God awful.

Every time the bow touched the strings, he got a horrid screech. Cello couldn't be that different from the violin, could it?

After an hour or so of practice, he was finally turning out some clear notes. It was progress. The woman came in and alerted him of Jefferson's return. Hamilton quickly stashed the cello somewhere where, hopefully, it would go unnoticed, dived into his book nest, and opened a book like he'd been reading the whole time. Two seconds later, Jefferson sauntered in.

"You're back," Hamilton stated the obvious.

"Naturally," Jefferson replied.

"Now what?"

"Now, you continue whatever you wish while I bathe," Jefferson said, peeling off his outer coat and draping it over his arm.

Hamilton got up and sauntered over, Jefferson's eyes following his every step. Hamilton wrapped his arms around Jefferson, "And if whatever I want is delaying you?" Hamilton purred, watching as Jefferson's eyes darkened. He was pulled against Jefferson's body as Jefferson dipped down and kissed him passionately, delighted he could actually do that now.

"Go take your bath, you smell like horses," Hamilton commanded, pulling away.

Jefferson chuckled and stepped out of the room.

***

Days passed in a blissful blur. Jefferson played the violin while Hamilton read, sometimes calling him over and showing him how to do something. Hamilton would file the information away to try on the cello the next morning when Jefferson would take his ride. Those nights usually ended with them kissing on the couch, but never much further. Not yet.

Jefferson had to retire to his office constantly to reply to something for work or draw up a plan. Hamilton spent those times doing his own work.

Hamilton was happy. He hasn't had a nightmare since he got to Monticello and from what he could tell, neither did Jefferson. Their lives were quiet and for once, Hamilton didn't mind it.

They both had days that were hard, their thoughts would turn dark and dangerous, but the other was always there with a warm embrace, a cup of something hot, and comforting words.  That was something neither of them had in a long time.

Jefferson emerged from his office one day with a letter in hand and a grim look on his face. "Hamilton, I have some terrible news."

"What is it?"

"On December 14th of this year, 1799, General George Washington passed away." Hamilton's face fell and he collapsed into a chair, his heart shattering apart. Jefferson continued. "Washington fell ill and despite the best attempts of the doctors, he finally passed away."

"No," Hamilton said in denial.

"Hamilton, are you okay?" Jefferson asked worriedly, his own grief evident in his face.

"Yeah," Hamilton said distantly, "yeah, I'm fine."

Jefferson sat beside him, "he's sitting under his own Vine and fig tree now. I'm sure he's content with the nation we made."

Hamilton nodded, pulling himself back together. "Is there anything else?"

Jefferson paused for a second, "Yes. We need to return to New York. The elections still being bickered over in the electoral college. Apparently, I've tied with Aaron Burr and they can't come to a decision."

Hamilton stood. "Burr? Burr is running?"

"Evidently."

Hamilton faced Jefferson, "Come on Thomas, we've got work to do."

**\----**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting fact about Washington's death:
> 
> So back then, doctors practiced something that was called bloodletting. Basically, it's where they make a cut on your arm or somewhere and let all the bad blood bleed out. No such thing as bad blood, but that's what they believed. If all the bad blood was bled out of the body, your sickness would go away. They also thought the human body had about 12 pints of blood. It actually only has about 6-8 pints of blood.
> 
> So when Washington got sick, they did bloodletting, and well, they basically bled Washington to death.
> 
> So there you go.
> 
> \----


	25. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is aware I don't speak a word of French and have no idea what I'm doing.

 

Jefferson looked around the room he was in. Madison was there and a few other people. They were discussing the fine women of New York.

"Can we get back to politics?" Jefferson asked tiredly.

"Please?" Madison pleaded. He was not one for those type of conversations.

"Yo," Jefferson called, getting everyone's attention. "Every action has it's equal and opposite reaction. John Adams shat the bed, I love the guy, but he's in traction." Thank you, Hamilton, he silently thanked. "Poor Alexander Hamilton, he is missing in action-"

"Dude, I'm right here." 

Jefferson waved him off, "You're not involved, you decided not to run because it wasn't the time, remember?"

"Fuck off, Jefferson." Someone walked in, handed Hamilton a letter. He ripped it open, studied the contents and excused himself, leaving the room.

"So now we're facing Aaron Burr, with is own faction. He's become quite the attraction."

"Congress still can't come to a decision. How many times will the ballot be up for revision?" Madison asked.

"If they don't come to a decision, a Federalist will get the position," someone explained.

"The people think you're too extreme. They've never dreamed a Republican would lead the team," Madison went on.

"Huh?"

"They see Burr as a less extreme you, we need to change course, a key endorsement might redeem you."

"Who did you have in mind?"

"Don't laugh," Madison said, still thinking Jefferson and Hamilton would jump at any opportunity to rip each other's throats out.

"I won't. Who is it?"

"It might be nice to get Hamilton on your side."

Jefferson laughed. And he didn't stop. "Sure, but he's made it perfectly clear that he would never endorse me."

"You should give it a try. Who does he hate more? You or the other guy?"

"You mean Burr? It's not who he likes, it's all about the stances."

"Jefferson, we're running out of chances."

"Fine, I'll see what I can do."

"Hopefully, for once, Hamilton will pull through."

"I don't think this is going to get us anywhere," Jefferson sighed.

"Support from Hamilton is always rare, but we have to give it a shot," Madison insisted, "I'm sure he'll at least give it some thought.

***

Hamilton was walking down the street on the way back from his errand when he bumped into someone he knew.

"Well, if it isn't Aaron Burr, sir"

"Alexander! It's good to see you!" Burr smiled.

"You've created quite a stir, sir."

"I'm going door to door," Burr said proudly, he was finally doing something, he was where everything happens, just like he dreamed.

"You're openly campaigning?"

"Sure!"

"That's new," Hamilton said skeptically.

"Honestly, it's kinda draining."

"Burr?"

"Sir?"

"Is there anything you wouldn't do?"

"No, and you know what?"

"What?"

"I learned that from you?"

Burr walked away, charming women and men along the way. Burr was wrong about something. There was plenty Hamilton wouldn't do. He would never betray what he stood for. Burr flip-flopped between so frequently, there was no telling what he really supported or what he would do. He could ruin a nation, may be easily bribed to another side. Anything could happen. 

Hamilton watched Burr prance away, his mind already made up.

Hamilton practically ran to the printing press where his newspaper was made. He entered the building, greeted some people, and inked out the front page of tomorrow morning paper.

***

Hamilton didn't come home until extremely late that night. Jefferson had started to get worried. He'd been waiting in bed, reading a book and writing some essays when Hamilton finally trudged up the stairs.

"Hard day?" Jefferson asked.

"I almost forgot how hard I worked while we were away," Hamilton admitted, rubbing his neck as he sat down and shucked off his boots.

Jefferson decided that any conversation about election could wait until tomorrow.

***

Jefferson was up early and out of the house at the crack of dawn, beating Hamilton out for once. He walked down the street and went right into the Congress building. "Any news?" he asked.

"Still deadlocked. This is the thirty-third ballot they've gone through," a man answered.

"Rough election," Jefferson commented.

"Indeed."

Jefferson found some coffee and waited for his friend Madison to arrive. At least half an hour passed before Madison burst through the door, "Thomas! Read this!" he commanded, throwing a newspaper at Jefferson.

Jefferson opened it up and read aloud, " _The people are asking to hear my voice as the head of the Federalist Party. The country is facing a difficult choice. I've been asked who I'd promote, and after careful consideration, Jefferson has my vote."_  Jefferson looked up at Madison in shock, but continued, " _I have never agreed with Jefferson once. We have fought on like seventy-five different fronts. But when all is said and all is done, Jefferson had beliefs. Burr has none."_

"Well I'll be damned," Jefferson breathed.

"Hamilton's on your side," Madison said, grinning, his bet had been right.

"Hamilton's on my side..." Jefferson was in shock. He didn't even talk to Hamilton. What happened to influence him?

Madison plucked the paper from his hands and handed to the young man Jefferson had been talking to. "Give this to the electors," Madison instructed. The man bowed and disappeared. Another couple hours passed when he reemerged.

"Congratulations, Mr. President," the man said, bowing slightly.

Shit. That actually just happened. Jefferson was president. Well, not until Adams' term was officially over; and he still had to take the oath, but it was real. Jefferson walked toward the door in shock.

"Jefferson?" Madison called, "Where are you going?"

"Home," Jefferson mumbled.

***

When Jefferson walked in the door, Hamilton was already home. "Guess what?" Hamilton asked giddily. Not waiting for a response he continued, "My divorce papers have officially gone through!"

Hamilton noticed Jefferson's state, "What's wrong? Did something happen?" he asked.

Jefferson's eyes slowly met Hamilton's. "I'm president now..."

"Yes! That's fantastic!" Hamilton bounced up and down and planted a kiss on Jefferson's lips. Jefferson smiled, coming back to himself.

"Fantastic, huh?" he asked, capturing Hamilton and pulling him to his body, "A republican like me in office? And that's fantastic?"

"Anyone is better than Burr, even you."

"Thanks," Jefferson said dryly, rolling his eyes.

"We should celebrate," Hamilton said.

"I'm already way ahead of you," Jefferson smiled, pulling a bottle of rare and fancy wine and two glasses from out of nowhere.

Hamilton grinned and they went off to the library. Usually, Jefferson didn't like wine being near his precious books, but tonight was special. And the library seemed to hold special meaning for them, so he set the glasses down on a small table, popped the cork, and poured two glasses.

Hamiton scooped his up and held it out, "To the new President of the United States,"

"And to a bright future of our nation," Jefferson added, clinking their glasses together. They both took a drink and settled in front of the fire.

"How would you like to be on my cabinet?"

Hamilton laughed, "Are you trying to get one of us to kill the other?"

"I could use the contradicting view," Jefferson shrugged.

"You'll get that whether I'm on your cabinet or not," Hamilton replied.

"Fair enough," Jefferson laughed. They sat back and enjoyed the moment of silence. "Alexander,"

"Hmm?" Hamilton hummed.

"Thank you for the endorsement."

Hamilton pulled Jefferson's face extremely close to his own, "Je vous en prie, Thomas," ( _You're welcome),_ Hamilton breathed heavily and pulled Jefferson on top of him, their soft lips meeting.

Jefferson didn't know how he managed it, but he slipped Hamilton's wine glass from his hand and set both their glasses safely on the table without ever breaking away from Hamilton. His hands now free, circled around the man beneath him, running through his silky hair, tracing the muscles in his back.

Hamilton moaned, arching against him. Jefferson deepened the kiss, pressing closer, Hamilton's hand were in his hair, on his back, pulling him tighter. Heat pooled at their cores. Hamilton wrapped his legs around Thomas, using leverage to flip Jefferson onto his back.

"Mon amour _(My love),_ " Jefferson breathed, "Mon coeur _(My heart),_ " his hands settling on Hamilton's hips, "Mon Alexandre _(My Alexander),_ "

"Thomas," Hamilton gasped. They kissed passionately. Jefferson's hands undoing the buttons on Jefferson's coat and vest. Hamilton's were already undoing Jefferson's shirt. He pulled back, looking at the dark skins on display. "Holy shit." Hamilton ran his hands over Jefferson's bare skin, the pure chiseled muscle laid out before him. Hamilton smiled down at Jefferson, who was holding Hamilton gingerly, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes.

"Vous êtes la plus belle chose que j'ai jamais vue _(You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen),_ " Jefferson said softly.

Hamilton laid his head down on Jefferson's chest, listening to his heartbeat as Jefferson traced light circles on the skin of his back, blush dusting his cheeks. Jefferson chuckled, hugging Hamilton against him, flipping them onto their sides, and cuddling Hamilton close. Hamilton curled up easily into him and soon they were both asleep.

**\----**


	26. 7

 

Christmas came and went. Hamilton didn't get to surprise Jefferson with his skill at the cello sadly because he just wasn't good enough yet. Learning to play an instrument is hard. Hope was not all lost though. Hamilton still had Jefferson's birthday to look forward to in April, so it wasn't too far off. It should still give him plenty of time to master the cello though, honestly, he couldn't wait. He spent every free moment when Jefferson wasn't around practicing. And Jefferson wasn't around a lot. President is a busy job. Especially in times like these. The peace between France, America, and England was barely holding. Not to mention Napoleon was knocking on their back door with the materials to knock down the nation and build an empire.

And Lafayette was still in jail.

There's was nothing America could do without going to war and as much as Hamilton wanted to put on a uniform and lead the charge, he couldn't. One reason being ever since Philip died, he's hated duels and war. Two being the nation was still incredibly fragile. And three being he couldn't make himself leave Jefferson.

So instead Hamilton went about his work as always.

He had plenty of court cases to deal with. He was an exceptional lawyer, so clients flooded to him. He'd been able to pay back all his debts that he managed to rack up since he didn't have to worry about a house or supporting a family anymore. Hamilton could retire. Even keeps saying he will, but every time he declares himself retired, he picks up another quill and starts writing. He just couldn't stop. A lot of the time is was to slander something Jefferson did. Oops.

Jefferson stomped inside, slamming the door behind him. "You know what's the worst part of being president?" Jefferson immediately raged, "Aaron-fucking-Burr. I look forward to working with you, he says. Yeah right."

Hamilton put down his quill and went and massaged Jefferson's shoulder's as he took off his boots. "How about some macaroni tonight?" Hamilton asked.

"You hate macaroni," Jefferson said glumly, resting his head on his hand.

Hamilton shrugged, "Yeah, but you enjoy it, so it doesn't matter."

Jefferson smiled, "Of course it matters. We'll have something else. Have you gotten most of your work done for the day?"

"You should hardly be worrying about my work, you've got your own to worry about."

"Ah, but your work often affects mine and then I have to go in the next day and fight whatever god awful plan you proposed until my dying breath. It's so much easier when I know what I'm going up against."

Hamilton tutted, "There's no fun in that. Besides, that gives you an advantage that I'd lack and we can't have that. How's the deal with France going?"

"The purchase?"

"I still think you should just send over an army and call it good."

"You know we're not in a position to that. And I haven't heard back from Napoleon about it yet. If I can get the Louisiana territory, we wouldn't have to worry about an invasion from the south. We'd be safe."

"Do you really think he'll sell his door into an American empire?"

"I'm mostly just praying at this point. America can't handle another war."

"We're going to be thrown into one eventually, we need to be prepared."

"Alexander, having a standing army will bankrupt the nation," Jefferson insisted.

"So get a loan, build the nation's credit a little more, and raise the taxes."

Jefferson sighed, "Hamilton, all you see is the industry. You're forgetting about the little people, the farms that hold the nation together and make us tick. If you throw that out the window, we'll fall apart."

"Nonsense."

"You make me go insane."

"Impossible, you were insane before I even met you."

"The world is insane."

"You may be right about that," Hamilton chuckled.

"If everyone just stopped bickering and keep to their own affairs, everything would be so much easier."

"If everyone kept to their own affairs the world would be boring and nothing would change."

"Maybe if everyone bickered about science or math then we could advance."

"People get bored so they throw stones."

"Sounds like someone I know," Jefferson looked pointedly at Hamilton.

"Hey, you know I prefer throwing books. At least that way the idiot who pissed me off might learn something."

"You're impossible."

"And you're a moron."

"Bastard."

"Asshole." They smiled at each other, "What was that about dinner?" Hamilton asked.

"So needy."

"Hey, I can cook if you want, but we both know that I burn water, so that may not be the best idea."

Jefferson sighed, "Hopeless as always. What would you do without me?" he asked, walking into the kitchen and turning on the stove.

"Survive on pure will, spite, and coffee."

"Of course you would. There's no getting rid of you."

Hamilton laughed and handed Jefferson cooking materials. "Speaking of which, when are you going to move into the presidential mansion? You'll have to do that eventually."

"Do you think they'll let you come with me?"

"Maybe if you told them I was on your staff."

"I tried to get you to join my cabinet, but nooo,"

The pan caught on fire causing Hamilton to squeak, "Umm? Thomas? Your pan is on fire," he said, directing Thomas' attention back to the food.

"You really never have cooked, have you?" Jefferson laughed, pouring some wine on the flames, making them bigger, "It's supposed to do that."

"That doesn't seem right."

"It's fine. Go wait in the dining room if you're so worried."

Hamilton wasn't worried, but he still stomped out of the kitchen nonetheless.

It wasn't long before Jefferson brought out the most delicious looking meal Hamilton had ever seen.

"You should cook more often," Hamilton commented.

"I shall endeavor to do so," Jefferson replied. He actually really enjoyed cooking. It was one of the ways he relaxed, but he hardly ever had the time. Especially since he was President of the United States now. Hamilton was right, though, he would have to move soon. How would that affect their relationship? They barely find enough time to be together as it is, throw separate lodgings into the mix... Jefferson picked at his food, thinking it over.

**\----**

 


	27. 8

Hamilton was looking over some documents his fellow Federalists had sent him when Jefferson burst into his office. "Jefferson?" Hamilton asked, surprised, "What are you doing here?"

Jefferson had moved into the Presidential Mansion a couple years back shortly after his election. Hamilton visited him on occasion when they were both free, but that was rare, so they hardly spent any time together anymore. It saddened them both, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Jefferson shoved a letter into his hands, "Napoleon accepted! The recent war that broke out between France and England made it necessary for him to acquire some money and fast. He sold us Lousiana and not just Lousiana, half of the continent too!"

"Congratulations, Thomas!" Hamilton said, standing and kissing Jefferson. "This is great news, but do you think the government can control such a large territory?"

"Our nation grows stronger, we'll be fine."

"I don't know Thomas, people are greedy and sinful. It may be harder than you imagine."

"No, you just don't like the Consitution and would use any excuse to take more power from the people and give it to a central power that will inevitably lead to corruption, the wheel spins, and nothing is new."

Hamilton bit back a retort just for the sake of not arguing when Jefferson was clearly so pleased with his accomplishment. Not only did he double the size of the nation, but he also successfully avoided war with France that may or may not have led to them becoming an extension of the French Empire.

"I'm so proud," Hamilton stated, looking through the letter again. "You know, the next election cycle is coming up, you'll probably be reelected after this."

"Hopefully, Burr won't be. I've withdrawn all my support from him, he's a dangerous man."

"I'll do what I can from my end to make sure he never sees office again," Hamilton stated.

***

Weeks later, Jefferson invited a mass of people to the Presidential Mansion for a dinner, Hamilton among them. When Hamilton arrived, there were too many people to count, but he knew exactly where Jefferson was, in his least favorite spot, in the center of the room, in the middle of a throng of people all wanting to talk to him, have his attention, share their political opinions, and get an endorsement from the most powerful man in the nation.

Hamilton pushed his way to the center, "Mr. Hamilton!" Jefferson called out upon seeing him, "glad you could make it."

"Of course, Mr. President, it would be ungracious of me to turn down an invitation from you," Hamilton nodded politely.

"Let me introduce you to some people."

And the night dragged on. Eventually, everyone was sitting around the massive dinner table laden with outrageous piles of food. Hamilton could see Jefferson was weary and ready for the night to be over. He was probably ready since it started. Hamilton felt pretty good still, he could last several more hours at the party. He was sitting next to Jefferson, but Jefferson was busy discussing something with Madison. Burr was laughing with some ladies, Adams was nowhere to be seen, even Governor Morris was there. Hamilton smiled at him, happy to see an old friend. He just prayed he wouldn't run into Clinton.

Jefferson turned back to his food, twirling his food around his plate, thinking about something distractedly while engaging in conversation with another man. He'd been freely drinking wine all night so his cheeks were tinted slightly from the alcohol. Nothing too major, just enough to loosen him up some. Hamilton was glad Jefferson was at least enjoying himself at least a little bit.

He, himself, loved parties, but tonight he was a little off his game. Hamilton's leg bounced restlessly under the table and he was barely eating any of the food before him, mostly just pushing it around his plate. There were so many things to think about. So many things to do. Hamilton absently stabbed at a piece of meat.

A hand rested on his knee, steadying his nervous bouncing. Hamilton looked over at Jefferson who was discussing the repercussions of a larger nation and what that would mean for the current governmental systems with Madison and Adams, something Hamilton would usually jump right into as well. The hand was comforting and it calmed Hamilton down some and allowed him to relax slightly. Why was he so jumpy? He's usually all over these types of dinners, always voicing his opinion, getting into arguments, the normal things. Maybe it was just one of those days.

Hamilton started picking at his food again and Jefferson's attention was almost entirely on him. He paid enough attention to Adams and Madison to be able to respond, but Hamilton was his main concern right now, he wasn't being himself. When his leg started bouncing again, Jefferson ran his hand up and down soothingly, squeezing to let Hamilton know that he was there. "One moment, gentlemen," he said before turning to Hamilton and speaking softly so no one else would overhear. "You can go ahead and go up to my rooms and get some rest if you want, relax. I'll be up as soon as socially acceptable." Hamilton nodded and excused himself as Jefferson returned his attention to the people talking to him.

It's hard to get excused from a dinner party you're hosting yourself.

***

The year was 1804.

Jefferson won the election easily, this with Clinton being vice president, Hamilton was furious. Had to be Clinton, didn't it?. At least Burr was out of the picture, that is, until Hamilton heard he was starting over upstate.

Hamilton put a stop to that too. He wouldn't have Burr having an impact on the nation ever again. He sent out letters to many people, explaining how Burr was the worst possible person to entrust with the reins of government. Burr was still technically Vice President though. The previous term hadn't ended yet, Burr wouldn't be out of office until then. That didn't mean Hamilton couldn't get a head start on making sure he didn't any political footholds anywhere else.

Everything was going smoothly.

Until Hamilton received a letter.

Dear Alexander,

I am slow to anger, but I toe the line as I reckon the effects of your life on mine. I look back on where I failed, and in every place I checked, the only common thread has been your disrespect. Now you call me "amoral," a "dangerous disgrace," if you've got something to say, name a time and place, face to face.

I have the honor to be Your Obedient Servant,

A. Burr.

Hamilton was quick to reply. He knew where this was headed, but he couldn't tell Burr that he meant what he said, then he'd be in a duel. But he couldn't take it back either. He'd just have to dance around it and hope for the best. He took up his quill,

Mr. Vice President,

I am not the reason no one trusts you. No one knows what you believe. I will not equivocate on my opinion, I have always worn it on my sleeve. Even if I said what you think I said, you'd have to sight a more specific grievance.

Here's an itemized list of thirty years of disagreements.

I have not been shy. I am just a guy in the public eye trying to do my best for our Republic. I don't want to fight. But I won't apologize for doing what's right.

I have to honor to be Your Obedient Servant,

A. Ham

What he hoped for is not what he got. His reply only seemed to have angered Burr, judging from his response.

Dear Alexander,

Careful how you proceed, good man. Intemperate indeed, good man. Answer for the accusations I lay at your feet or prepare to bleed, good man.

Your Obedient Servant,

A. Burr

Hamilton had no choice anymore. This was headed for a duel. He might as well own up to it.

Dear Mr. Vice President,

Your grievance is legitimate. I stand by what I said, every bit of it. You stand only for yourself, it's what you do. I can't apologize because it's true.

Your Obedient Servant,

A. Ham.

Dear Mr. Hamilton,

Then stand, Alexander. Weehawken. July 11th. Dawn.

Your Obedient Servant,

A. Burr

Hamilton set aside his quill and rubbed his face. He had just enough time to get his affairs in order before the duel.

\----


	28. 9

 

June 10th, 1804

Hamilton stood on the doorstep of the Presidential Manor early in the morning and knocked. A couple moments passed before an extremely tall person answered the door decked out in pajamas, pushing his curly hair out of his face.

"Alexander?" Jefferson asked, surprised. Hamilton wasn't prone to visiting early in the morning. In fact, he didn't visit very much at all.

"You actually answered the door in your pajamas," Hamilton pointed out, a smile creeping on to his face.

"Well, I did win the presidency, that was our bet, remember."

Hamilton grinned, remembering the bet they made forever ago. "Can I come in?"

"Of course!" Jefferson jumped out of the way. "What are you doing here anyway? Is there some business you need to discuss with me?" he asked as Hamilton stepped inside and removed his coat.

"No. No reason at all. I just came to see you."

"Oh?" Jefferson said, a hint of suspicion in his voice, "That doesn't happen often."

Jefferson shut the door behind him, "This way," Jefferson said, steering Hamilton through the hallways. Jefferson led them into the library. It was an environment familiar to them both,a place where they could both relax with ease. The stressed seemed to roll off Hamilton's shoulders in waves as he pulled out a book and studied it before replacing it.

"Are you sure there isn't something you wanted to discuss with me? You seem to have something on your mind," Jefferson asked worriedly, watching Hamilton fiddle with the books absentmindedly.

Burr's letters in Hamilton's pocket suddenly weighed him down. "No, I just wanted to spend some time with you." Hamilton smiled closing the distance between them, wrapping his arms are the tall man's neck.

Jefferson stared down at Hamilton suspiciously, not quite believing him. Something was definitely wrong, but he would have to trust Hamilton to tell him when he was ready. His hands settled on Hamilton's hips, "If you say so, mon amour _(my love)._ "

Hamilton pulled Jefferson down and kissed him lovingly as he was pulled closer to the warm body that held him. "I've missed you," Jefferson's lips hummed against his own. Hamilton smiled and pulled away.

"Play for me?" he asked.

Jefferson blinked down at him, "You want me to play for you?" Hamilton nodded, "I didn't think you liked music all that much."

"I adore your music."

Jefferson grinned and raced off for his violin while Hamilton curled up beside the fire. Jefferson returned shortly with a beautiful, polished violin made of the finest wood. He placed it to his chin and slid his bow across the strings. The notes whirled around Hamilton, sinking into his heart where they would reside forever. He tilted his back and absorbed everything and committed it to memory. The way Jefferson moved so beautifully, so gracefully as his delicate finger masterfully shaped notes. The way his hair fell around his face, the way his muscles moved under his shirt. He's heard this song before, in fact, he learned to play it on the cello for Jefferson so they could play together. Too bad he didn't have a cello or he'd show Jefferson right now but he supposed it would have to wait until tomorrow.

After awhile, Hamilton stood and embraced the man that held his heart. Jefferson held him back and they stood in each other's arms, just holding onto each other, the fire warmed his skin and Jefferson warmed his soul.

***

Jefferson was still worried. The way Hamilton held him earlier, it was as if he was holding on for dear life, trying to memorize everything about Jefferson. He looked over at the man that slept beside him, even in sleep he looked troubled. Rolling over, Jefferson draped his arm over Hamilton, holding him close, hoping he could chase away whatever troubles ailed him, and fell into the clutches of sleep.

Only to be brought back out of them by the scratching of a quill.

"Alexander? Come back to sleep."

"I have an early meeting out of town," Hamilton replied solemnly.

Alarms bells went off in Jefferson's head. "It's still dark outside," he insisted.

"I know, I just need to write something down."

"Why do you write like you're running out of time?"

"Shh."

"Come back to bed, it can wait."

"I'll be back before you know I'm gone."

"Come back to sleep."

"This meeting's at dawn." With that, Hamilton left. Jefferson tried to reason that it was normal business. Hamilton tended to start his day absurdly early, this was no different. But he knew in his heart something was wrong. For one, Jefferson's eyes landed on the coat Hamilton had left behind. He jumped out of bed and dug through Hamilton's coat and pulled out a bundle of letters.

"From Burr?" Jefferson opened them up and read through them. His heart dropped. Then it thudded froze when his eyes caught on the papers Hamilton had been working on. Hamilton never left his work behind. His fingers shook as he picked up the letter and read through it, each word making his chest grow tighter and tighter. No. Threw it down, changed into clothes in two seconds flat and raced after Hamilton.

**\----**


	29. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on tight, we're going for a ride

 

 

Hamilton stood atop a hill, looking over the view, his guns weighed heavily on his hips, his heart heavier in his chest. Each thump more audible and pressing than the last. Everything in Hamilton's life boiled down to this precise moment, everything he's worked for, everything he's accomplished, everything he has in his life hinged on the pull of the trigger. Funny really, once he's considered how many other times his life has hung in the balance of a duel. Sixteen times prior. Sixteen times he's lived to the next sunrise. This time would make seventeen.

Hamilton turned to face Burr, barely able to make out his features through the dark predawn light that seemed to hide more than secrets than the darkest of midnights. Still, Burr's face could be seen shifting through an array of emotions. Hamilton smiled. Burr. It was kinda ironic actually, Burr had called duels dumb and immature, that getting shot for slandering words was absurd. Oh, how the tables have turned. Hamilton, once issuing duels left and right now disdained them with all his heart, if only Burr still felt the same way.

The wind picked up slightly, stirring Hamilton's hair and the coat he had stolen from Jefferson all those years ago, seemingly a lifetime. The stiff breeze, so cold in its embrace, shifted Burr's own cloak about him, surely painting a pleasant picture to any onlooker who would stop long enough to appreciate the dark stances that both of them seemed to have assumed. Slowly, the golden light of dawn broke upon the world, chasing away the illusion of dreariness and foreboding notions. It was simply another day.

Hamilton squared himself up with Burr, making sure their placements were correct. Hamilton had drawn first position and so he paced the field, searching for the perfect place to take his stand, in the end, he chose to face into the sun, muttering to himself, "This'll do."

He had a lunch appointment later, Hamilton needed to get this done so he could get back in time and not be late. It was rude to show up to meetings late after all. What kind of gentleman would he be if he allowed this duel to drag on and inconvenience a friend?

His thoughts turned to his beloved son, Philip. He received his fatal wound only a few steps away. That was the day that changed Hamilton, it changed his entire life. His pistol seemed to stare up at him, the very pistol he had handed his son. The same trigger Hamilton now fiddled with was once fiddle by Philip as well. If there was ever to be a sign that this would not end well, this was it. Philip was too much like his father.

Hamilton used to love to duel. He once challenged the entire anti-federalist party. Duels were invigorating, the adrenaline, the blood pumping through his veins, it was enough to sate his hunger for adventure. That day when Philip died changed that in him.

Hamilton promised himself he would never duel again.

Yet here he stood.

Nathaniel walked to the center to meet with William P. Van Ness, Burr's second, to see if they could straighten this out. Burr watched with interest but Hamilton simply watched the sun rise over New York City. Who knew the view could be this pretty? Pendleton returned, catching Hamilton's attention with a shake of the head. Okay, so they're doing this.

Hamilton looked Burr in the eye, there was no softness there, simply the resolve to see this through to the end. It was Hamilton's own fault, he supposed, he was the one to grab Burr by the collar, pull him back, shove his face in the mud, and then step on him to cross the mud without dirtying his own shoes, making sure to grind Burr's face down with his heel as he went. The call to turn and paces to be count off.

1  
 _Un_  
2  
 _Duex_  
3  
 _Trois_  
4  
 _Quarte_  
5  
 _Cinq_  
6  
 _Six_  
7  
 _Sept_  
8  
 _Huit_  
9  
 _Neuf_  
Number 10 paces!

Fire!

***

Time slowed down.

Ah, the familiar looming of possible death. An uncertainty. The greatest of all uncertainties, still unable to be sure until seconds away from it.

Hamilton was still uncertain. Pistols fired, the flash spreading slowly in Hamilton's eyes, his adrenaline fueling his senses, dragging everything out unnecessarily slow. Would Burr miss? It was still unknown.

Death seemed to look over Hamilton all his life, ingraining the feeling into his memory forever, so intensely that sometimes Hamilton felt sure it had already happened, at least, until Jefferson came along. He had chased that feeling away with a simple smile, a warm embrace, a fleeting touch. Hamilton had felt safe, he had felt alive.

But Jefferson wasn't here now and that feeling returned. This time, Hamilton could see it coming for him, so achingly slowly, taunting him, his mind racing for him to act but his body unable to respond because even though his mind slowed the bullet, the body was still unable to outrun it. The only thing able to outrun it was Hamilton's heartbeat, still thudding painfully in his chest. The melody of death, the final heartbeats. The only comfort being the hope that his legacy held out, that his heart beats went on in the form of history and future posterity uttering his name. A future he would never see but could only imagine. The beginnings of a melody so loud Hamilton was sure he could actually hear it and it sounded strangely like Jefferson's violin on a late night as he played in front of the fire.

Hamilton had always been running and now his time's up.

Wise up, eyes up.

A glimpse of the other side.

Laurens leads a soldiers' chorus on the other side.   
Philip with his mother on the other side.   
Washington was watching from the other side.  
Washington, hold out your hand and teach Hamilton how to say goodbye, how to let go.  
Another figure, standing there, shaking its head. Hamilton disliked it immediately, he was going to call it Dick. Or maybe Bob.

These are the proper things to think about when you're about to die. It the only way to-

Rise up!

See the bullet coming at me. See his own lead ball rise up. Was this always how it was always going be? Hamilton throwing away his shot? Such an irony. He should have told Jefferson he loved him. Hamilton could see him now, standing in front of the fire, playing the violin. Him sprawled on the couch, reading a book. Cooking. Riding off in the morning. His smile. The way his arms felt around Hamilton and how Jefferson fit in his. He could hear his laugh and his words.  _Mon amour. Mon coeur. My love. My heart._ _Mon Alexandre._

Laurens smiled sadly at him,  _I may not live to see our glory,_

_but I will gladly join the fight._

_And when our children tell our story,_

_they'll tell the story of tonight._

Hamilton reached out for him, pistol aiming upward morphing into a shot. Another round tonight.

_Tomorrow there'll be more of us._

Tears rolled down Hamilton's face

 _"Raise a glass to freedom,"_ he sang. Laurens nodded and disappeared.

Hamilton looked to Burr, his face shocked and regretful, almost as if he's trying to recall his bullet by sheer will.

Time resumed.

And Jefferson stepped in front of the bullet's path.

**\----**


	30. Wait!

"Wait!" all three of them screamed at the same time, too late. Jefferson collapsed to the ground. No one moved. Everyone was in shock.

"Alexander..."

"Thomas!" Hamilton cried, falling to the ground to the crumpled Jefferson, turning him over, looking for where the bullet tore through Jefferson's body. A red flower blossomed on Jefferson's chest. Right between the ribs. A fatal wound. Hamilton tore off his coat and pressed it to Jefferson wound. "It's not that bad," Hamilton cried, "You'll be fine."

"Alexander," Jefferson smiled weakly, "I always know when you're lying."

Hamilton sobbed, "No! I'm not lying! You're going to be fine because you're going to pull through this and live a long and happy life with me!"

"With you?" Jefferson chuckled. "Sounds wonderful. Are you going to cook, or am I?"

"I'll cook, Thomas, I'll cook for you."

"Perfect. You burning the house down will give me a chance to redesign it. I'm thinking more windows. What do you think?" Jefferson asked, his eyes drooping.

"Stay awake, Thomas, yes that sounds great, but you have to stay alive." Hamilton pressed the wound harder, willing the bleeding to stop, but the red just continued to soak through the coat.

"You know-" Jefferson coughed, "-you never read that book."

"I tell you what, you come home with me and it'll be the first thing I do," Hamilton promised.

"Read that book."

"Only if you come back with me," Hamilton insisted.

Jefferson struggled to breathe, blood dribbling from his mouth. "Alexander, don't cry," he pleaded, reaching up and brushing away Hamilton's tears. Hamilton clutched Jefferson's hand, the other still tightly pressed against Jefferson's wound. "You have to keep going, Alexander, this nation needs you."

"This nation needs you, not me, you're the president."

Jefferson laughed, "I think Burr is president now. He is the vice-" He coughed harshly.

"No! You promised that you wouldn't die without me! You promised! You have to keep your promise. You can't die before me! Not before you listen to what I learned to play for you!" Hamilton cried.

Jefferson wiped away Hamilton's tears and pushed his hair out of his eyes, "What did you learn to play for me?"

"I-it's a surprise," Hamilton hiccuped.

"Tell me," Jefferson insisted weakly, "I want to know."

"I learned to play the cello, I can play that song you played that night in the library. We can play it together."

"The Impossible Duet. Our life story it seems," Jefferson laughed but it faded away.

"Jefferson!"

"I wished Burr shot me in the heart so I could die faster and not feel every second of it," Jefferson grumbled.

"How about you don't die and tell him to aim better yourself." Jefferson closed his eyes wearily. "Eyes open, Thomas!"

"I'm sorry, Alexander" Jefferson whispered, "That I couldn't keep my promise. You, know, you were my new melody."

"We're a duet," Hamilton insisted, "We can't play without the other."

Jefferson smiled up at Hamilton, "Play for me."

"Stay alive," Hamilton sobbed.


	31. Who Lives

Hamilton held Jefferson in his arms for a long time, whispering, "It wasn't supposed to be this way. You weren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to die!" Rocking him in his arms until he fell onto Jefferson's chest. "I never got to tell you that I loved you."

Everyone kept their distance. The doctor knew there was nothing he could do. No one dared try and separate Hamilton from him, especially when Hamilton still had his gun. Burr was not as smart as the rest and moved forward, wanting to help, but his friend held him back and told him to leave. Burr wouldn't want to be here when Hamilton remembered why Jefferson was dead and who put him there.

Eventually, Hamilton did stand, looking down at the fallen body, crumpled, lifeless, pale, tears flowing freely down his face, splattering apart on Jefferson's still face. Every drop making it more and more real. Not a dream this time. Real.

A hand slowly reached for his pistol, feeling the smooth weight of the wood and metal, letting it fill his palm and his stomach with an icy fire that just consumed and demanded blood. Specifically Burr's. Hamilton's hand was steady, ready to pull the trigger.

"Where is he?" he asked, his voice cold, deadly, low. Not his own. Not the voice Jefferson would have recognized. Not the voice Jefferson loved.

Jefferson wasn't here anymore.

"He's gone," Mr. Pendleton replied.

"Of course that coward ran," Hamilton seethed.  
"No, he wanted to help but I sent him on his way," William Van Ness supplied, standing his ground.

"You had no right-"

"And you have no right to executing him without a trail."

"The president is dead!" Hamilton bellowed hoarsely.

"But human rights didn't die with him."

Pendleton laid a hand on Hamilton's shoulder, preventing him from doing anything irrational like shooting Van Ness. Pendleton also slipped the gun from Hamilton's grasp, not that it would've done much, it was only good for one round, a round that Hamilton now regretted firing into the air.

Now all he could do was turn back to Jefferson. He would need a funeral but first, Hamilton had to row him back across the Hudson. The people had to know. Hamilton picked him up and carried him away.

He would see that Jefferson was buried under his favorite tree at Monticello.  
  
  
  
  



	32. Who Dies

 

There are many ways to deal with death and Hamilton knew that better than anyone.

When his mother died he thought it was unbearable.

When Laurens died he thought it was unbearable.

When Philip died he thought it was unbearable.

Now, Jefferson had died and it was unbearable. Everything hurt ND Hamilton's mind ticked away, tearing itself apart like it always did when this happened. There was only one way to stop it. Throw himself into his work.

Jefferson had known this.

So Hamilton did just that but he never learned to cope. He never healed. His heart simply slowly bled out until nothing remained. He cared for nothing. So when the war of 1812 broke out, Hamilton didn't hesitate to sign up. Didn't hesitate to sign up for the suicide mission either.

This was one time his luck didn't pull through where he fell short.


	33. Who Tells Your Story

 

Jefferson woke up with a start in the middle of his college history class.

"Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton were the exact opposite and they hated each other with a passion. In fact, Jefferson kept a bust of Hamilton in his home, Monticello, facing off with a busy if himself, saying that 'they were fated to be pit against each other forever.' However, the two became extremely close friends, much like Jefferson's friendship with Madison or Lafayette. Jefferson passed away in 1804 when he stepped in front of a bullet intended for Hamilton during a duel with Aaron Burr. No one knows the reasoning of why he decided to sacrifice himself but the best guess is that Jefferson valued Hamilton's friendship more than anything," the professor drawled on.

"Of course," Jefferson mumbled under his breath, "Because God forbid the founding fathers were anything but straight."

"No one knows what became of Hamilton. Records indicate he fell into an extreme depression after the loss of his friend. He blamed himself for the rest of his life. Supposedly, he left political life altogether, turning down the presidency, and took over Monticello, which Jefferson left to him in his will. Others say that after several years, Hamilton reentered politics and fought for Jefferson's dream of abolishing slavery. Obviously, he failed. Either way, he was haunted by the death of Jefferson for the rest of his life, it's assumed it what compelled him to sign up for a suicide mission in the War of 1812, where he took a bullet to the heart. His last words were, "Ah, you cannot kill me with that shot, my heart died long ago!" he collapsed, his final thoughts being that of his friend."

This was getting depressing.

Jefferson scribbled some notes down on his paper. What was the dream he was having? Oh, that's right, he and his girlfriend Martha had gone on a road trip to see the Monticello Museum. She always loved history.

"Okay class, that's all for today, please turn in your assignments on your way out." Jefferson scrawled the date in the corner, April 13, 2033, it was his birthday today, he'd almost forgotten. Shouldering his bag and grabbing his violin case, he turned in the assignment and headed for his next class.

Jefferson stepped out of the building, breathed in the lovely Virginia air and smiled. Today was a good day.

***

Hamilton headed back to his dorm after a long day of college but it wasn't over yet, he still had private music lessons to go to. He didn't know why he decided to play the cello, he wasn't even a fan of classical music, but he just felt strangely drawn to it. Like it had some sort of purpose in his life.

It was a useless skill, especially with the way the country was heading. There would be no reason for cello playing when civil war broke out. That's why he focused on war strategy and governmental theory. History was important too. He wanted to be prepared for when the blood began to flow.

When he opened his door, he greeted his roommate, grabbed his cello case, and headed back out, shouldering past people and trying his best to look inconspicuous. For some reason, he didn't like people knowing he could play. That was nearly impossible when you're lugging a giant black case around.

The lessons were at his tutor's house, but it wasn't for from the college grounds, seeing as she went there too. He stepped out of the building and breathed in the heavy New York air and sighed. Today was almost over.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for the Sequel:
> 
> Falling Through Time: Book 2: Basking in Firelight


End file.
